


Gimme Shelter

by Woad



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Alpha/Omega, Forced Bonding, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Multiverse, Soulmates, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woad/pseuds/Woad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds himself captive in another universe where an alien called the Collector is in league with Hydra. They’ve already broken another universe’s version of Steve -- who they keep referring to as something called an “omega” -- and promise that the same is in store for him. But there’s a catch: in this universe soulmates are literal, and they seem to think Steve has one. Fortunately, it might just be what he needs to get through their re-education.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueManta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueManta/gifts).



“Does this mean I get to come visit?” Sam asked, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as Steve zipped shut a small duffel and hefted it onto his shoulder.

“If you can bring yourself to use the entry code he gave me.”

“Which is?”

Steve cleared his throat, _“This is Studley Do-Right, here to save the day.”_

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Can you just open a window for me?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Steve said, sliding a secondhand turntable beneath his arm and picking up a box with his small but growing collection of books and big band records.

“When I offered to help you move, I didn’t realize it would only take five minutes,” Sam said, taking the box from Steve. “You really don’t need help carrying a couch?”

“Furnished apartment,” Steve shrugged.

“And you want to leave? Nice apartments are one in a million in this city. And Stark...Hey, if the guy’s impossible to live with, you are _not_ allowed to just move in with me.”

Steve gave Sam a half-smile, knowing the gist of what Sam was getting at. But he and Tony were on working terms now, even if the man still had an ego the size of his tower.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

After seeing Fury shot in his living room, after his neighbor revealing she’d been planted there to keep an eye on him, after seeing _Bucky_ on that rooftop--

After everything that had happened, Steve was itching to find another place. With SHIELD gone, he wasn’t sure what would happen to the lease. And newly unemployed, Steve doubted he could afford it. Tony’s offer to move into the completed tower had been perfectly timed.

“Besides,” he said, following Sam to the door, “there’s over a hundred floors in that tower. Plenty of breathing room.”

“ _Damn._ I’d be jealous, but not after hearing the entry code,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, well--" Steve took one last look at the quiet apartment before pulling the door shut, locking up, and sliding the keys through the letter box. “I guess we’ll see how it goes.”

#

“Morning, Cap.”

Steve winced, trying to block out the voice, every fiber of his body sore and aching like it had been run through a wringer.

“Come on,” the deep rumble insisted, one Steve knew all too well.

Steve cracked one blue eye open and squinted against the glare of bright, artificial lights. He was lying on his side, arms tied tight behind his back, cheek pressed to a cold, polished steel floor. Something heavy hung around his neck and he was was barefoot. Black BDUs and a pair of dark brown boots rested just inches away from his face. The smell of polish and leather filled his nose as one of the boots came down heavy on his shoulder, forcing him onto his back, and pinning his arms painfully beneath the weight of his own body.

Rumlow looked down on him with an unpleasant grin. He looked good for a dead man -- possibly even less haggard around the eyes, though he still had a thin, hawkish look about him.

“Seems like this is still just a bad dream,” Steve mumbled.

That earned him a sharp kick, square in the jaw. His head snapped to the side with the force of it.

“Well I guess that’s one alternative to pinching.” Steve rolled his jaw, testing to make sure nothing was broken.

“And we’re just getting started. On your knees, soldier.”

Steve bared his teeth at Rumlow in a pale shade of a grin. “You didn’t say _please_.”

In answer, Rumlow fisted two hands into the front of Steve’s star-spangled leather uniform. “I don’t have to,” he said, jerking Steve upright.

Even with his hands tied behind his back, getting in close like that was foolish of the man. Steve turned his momentum into a lunge, trying to sink his teeth into the other man’s arm. And he might have succeeded if Rumlow hadn’t moved at the last second, stepping back and tapping a black band at his wrist.

Fire ripped through Steve’s nerves, and it felt like the thing at his neck was choking him as the muscles beneath it spasmed. The Hydra agent watched him carefully, eyes narrowing as Steve let out a guttural hiss of pain.

“Determined to play difficult, are you?” He asked, tapping at his wrist again. With the gesture, the pain let up, though Steve still ached all over.

It took longer than Steve would have liked to get his breath back. “To the last inch.”

A smile blossomed across Rumlow’s lips. “ _Perfect.”_

That was not the answer Steve expected, and a cold sense of unease settled over him, quickly followed by a healthy dose of anger.

Last thing Steve could remember, he’d been in the tower taking a stab at repairing his turntable, watching the Dodgers lose to the Giants, and pondering if -- as the sole other permanent tower resident -- his duties included ensuring Tony hadn’t starved to death in the lab downstairs.

He’d been calculating when he’d last seen the engineer when things went fuzzy.

He apparently had Rumlow to thank for that.

The Hydra agent circled around Steve, mulling something over. When he finally stopped, roughly at Steve’s two o’clock, it was next to a wall of tools and a table. Steve saw knives, batons, chain, and rope hanging from the pegs. From his spot on the floor, Steve couldn't see what was on the table, and he tensed as Rumlow’s fingers swept over items unseen before picking up a long thin rod that crackled with electricity as he flourished it.

As Rumlow approached, swinging it in his hand, Steve pressed his lips together and flexed, tensing the muscles in his torso for a blow. But Rumlow surprised him, not going for the blow immediately. Instead he flanked Steve, circling around behind his back. And that worried the solider. He got one knee and a foot beneath himself, trying to pivot so that Rumlow wouldn’t be at his back, but the other man was quicker.

Steve felt the shock rod wedged between his back and bound hands, then a tearing pain as Rumlow twisted the baton, forcing Steve’s arms to bend unaturally.

His breath came in short gasps as Rumlow levered the weapon, forcing more pressure onto the bones in Steve’s forearm. The pain was sharp and stabbing, but Steve couldn’t move his arms any further to let up on the force. If he could just angle himself right, there was a chance he could lunge upward at Rumlow.

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was something.

As if reading Steve’s mind, Rumlow kicked the ankle Steve had beneath him, driving Steve forward onto his knees. Steve grit his teeth and blew a furious breath between his teeth to keep from swearing.

And then the pain let up as Rumlow withdrew the baton.

“There,” Rumlow came back into Steve’s field of view, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Steve opened his mouth to retort, but never got to say a thing. He took a brutal and quick blow from Rumlow’s baton, right into his solar plexus. For a few terrifying moments, Steve couldn’t breathe, his mouth hanging open and useless.

Rumlow brought the baton up to caress Steve’s cheek as he gaped, the cold carbon fiber anything but comforting. And then Steve felt the point of it pressing against his throat, just under his Adam’s apple, urging him backward. When he failed to oblige it, Rumlow kicked Steve square in the chest. He went down hard, head cracking against the steel floor, and his hands digging into his back again.

That was going to ache tomorrow.

“Let’s try again,” Rumlow’s voice was oily. “On your knees.”

“Go to hell.”

That wasn’t the answer Rumlow wanted. The way he whipped the baton down on Steve’ prone form was vicious. Beneath his blue uniform, Steve could already feel the bruises forming. He rolled to his side, curling, trying to shield himself from the rain of blows. But Rumlow pressed the device at his wrist again and pain ripped through every nerve ending in Steve’s body again.

“Still nothing personal?” Steve choked out, lying boneless on the floor once Rumlow finally let up.

Rumlow crouched next to Steve’s head. “ _Everything_ between us is personal.” He tilted his head in thought and pulled a utility knife from his boot. He held it in front of Steve, letting the solider get a good look at the six inch blade that gleamed in the white light of the room. “I killed you once.”

That one simple sentence penetrated deep into Steve’s adrenaline spiked mind. In the fog of putting up defenses, he had made some assumptions. Clearly Steve hadn’t been gathering enough information. “ _What?_ ”

Rumlow smiled, tapped him on the nose with the knife, and stood, crossing the room before pausing next to a control panel. “You’re a long way from home, Cap.”

One of the room’s walls dissolved. Or that’s what it looked like. For a moment the change was so jarring that Steve didn’t know _what_ he was looking at. But there it was: a field of stars, and at the heart of it all, earth -- a blue green marble wreathed in wisps of white.

“We’re about to make the jump,” Rumlow said, glancing at a blinking light on the panel. “Brace yourself.”

 _Jump?_ Terror wormed its way around Steve’s heart _. No --_

Before he could even process the warning, it started. His body felt heavier, as though he were pinned to the floor. His blood felt like it had frozen in his veins, and everything took on a blue tint around him.

Perhaps five or six seconds went by before the sensation passed. When it did, Steve looked out of the window again, but the earth had vanished. Even the stars had changed.

“Told you,” Rumlow said, and then he stiffened.

Steve heard the footsteps too, staccato clicks across metal, approaching at a languid pace. Their source -- a man with shocking white hair and dark rings around his eyes -- swept into the room in a whirl of red robes.

“Oh, excellent. You haven’t killed this one yet.” His voice was airy and aloof, as if everything happening was perfectly sane and normal.

Rumlow bristled. “I haven’t killed any of yours yet.”

“True.” The man’s eyes turned critical as they swept over Steve’s body. “But you’ve been _enthusiastic_ for so early in the game.”

“They put me here for a reason,” Rumlow spat back. “If I’ve only got four weeks --"

“Ah!” The white haired man held up a finger in warning, eyes still on Steve. “We will have this discussion later. I merely wanted to see the new addition.” He drew closer, curious, a pleased smile on his face. “Welcome, super soldier, to universe 7501, and -- at least temporarily -- to my personal menagerie. I am Taneleer Tivan, but you may call me the Collector.”

#

Before departing, the Collector announced he wanted samples ‘from the specimen’ cataloged.

As degrading as that was, it wasn’t exactly new to Steve. After Erskine’s death, the project Rebirth scientists had wanted as much data as possible from him. It had been the only option for trying to recreate the serum. _Some good it had done them._

 As sore and bruised as he was, Steve still bristled when Rumlow came near him with the knife.

“Lie still,” Rumlow advised, fitting the blade between the device on Steve’s neck and his skin. “Or I’ll turn the collar on for the whole process. If you just so happen to _flinch,_ well…” with his other hand, he drew down a lock of hair till his hand hovered near Steve's eye. “They want you whole. But my hand might slip.”

He scythed off half an inch of the lock with the knife and bagged it, then produced a swab.

“Open up.”

Steve pursed his lips.

“Open up and I’ll tell you where you are.”

“You mean _besides_ not on earth?”

Rumlow sighed and activated the shock collar. It wouldn’t do Rumlow any good, Steve thought spitefully, as every muscle clenched up again and his teeth ground against one another. When the shock let up, Steve would be no more cooperative.

But this time the Hydra agent left it on longer.

Longer as far as Steve perceived it, anyway. It was definitely more than a few seconds, but it was hard to say by how much before long. Each moment it stayed on seemed to drag out into an eternity.

When Rumlow finally turned the collar off, Steve couldn’t so much as open his eyes. He felt Rumlow press at the crook of his jaw, forcing it open to shove a cotton swab around the inside of his cheek.

After that came the blood, which seemed to be the only thing Rumlow took any relish in. Steve couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man wiggled the needle around in his arm on purpose. He almost regretted his resistance to the swab because Rumlow had had to untie his hands. Now that they weren’t bound behind his back, he really wanted to strangle the man. 

“No, you aren’t on earth,” Rumlow said. “You aren’t even in the same universe.” He had a smug tone in his voice, the one he always got when he knew privileged information. “Or didn’t you wonder how I could have killed you?”

As control over his body slowly came back and Steve was able to force his eyes open again, he saw that Rumlow was completely serious. And he felt…angry. He’d just been settling into life in the twenty-first century, and now he was supposed to deal with this? If he’d had control over his hands, shock collar or no, he could have aimed a jab straight at Rumlow’s throat.

But the effects of the collar still lingered. His tongue felt leaden and there was no way he would be able to raise his hands, let alone form them into fists. “So Hydra got bored and decided to abduct me from a different universes?” The thought was weirdly flattering. “I’m touched.”

Rumlow squeezed Steve’s wrist, and the blood he was drawing came faster. “Not exactly. Chance encounter of the third kind with the alien you just met. And mutual interest in serum-enhancement.”

 _Oh lovely_ , Steve thought bitterly.

After Rumlow withdrew the needle, vial full of deep purple blood, Steve assumed they were finished.

Instead, just as Steve began to regain mobility in his fingers, he found his arms being bound again, this time with the chains he had seen earlier. His hands were pulled up above his head and fastened to a hook in the ceiling. Next Rumlow attached cuffs to his ankles before activating what he called a “differential gravity” feature that left Steve’s bare feet bound to the floor and complete immobilized.

Steve strained at the restraints as sensation began prickling back into his muscles. He had perhaps a few inches of free movement from the knee up and nothing more.

Rumlow’s dark eyes caught Steve’s. “If you’re wondering why I didn’t just string you up like this before,” he said, nonchalant as he took a syringe from the table filled with a clear, light blue liquid and stuck Steve in the neck. Almost immediately, Steve felt lighter, his pain farther away.

Next Rumlow fiddled with a small circular piece of metal. In this universe, it seemed, Hydra had more gadgets than Tony Stark. “It’s because it’s more fun when you fight back.”

 _But for what comes next?_ Steve wondered privately.

And then he understood.

As it turned out, Rumlow had left the least cherished task on his plate for last. He twisted a plastic cup in his hands and pursed his lips as he attached the small silver disk just beneath Steve’s left ear. It sent a small buzz through the soldier’s body -– surprising, but, unlike everything else that day, not unpleasant.

No, the unpleasant part came when he felt Rumlow’s hands at his waist, undoing his belt. Out of instinct, Steve tried to bring his knee up and almost succeeded in dislocating his ankle.

“Calm down, Cap,” Rumlow’s lips were thin and bloodless. “This will be a lot easier and quicker if you cooperate.”

It didn’t matter. There was absolutely nothing Steve could do as Rumlow opened his pants and pulled down the hem of his underwear for the next sample.

But the little silver disk clearly hadn’t had the impact the agent wanted. When he saw that Steve was soft and unresponsive, Rumlow frowned and took the device in hand, checking the settings and then the placement on Steve’s skin.

“Shy, Cap?”

“I guess I just don’t get off on whips and chains.”

Rumlow made a low noise in the back of his throat. “That shouldn’t matter.”

But when he replaced the disk and still didn’t get a reaction -– Steve didn’t so much as even twitch -– Rumlow turned on his heel and snatched up the vial of blood. “I hope you’re comfortable. Guess we’ll have to resume this tomorrow.”

Then he shut off the lights and left, leaving Steve trussed up, hanging out of his half-undone pants, with only the dim light of the stars to see by.

#

Steve tried to fight sleep. To some degree, the way his hands were done up above his head helped. His shoulders ached and his wrists began to chafe from the way they rubbed against the metal. But the drug that gave him a pleasant, floating sensation also kept most of the pain at bay, and it remained in his system. Steve wondered just how much Rumlow had dosed him with if his metabolism hadn’t cleared it by now.

And how did Rumlow know how much to give him, anyway?

At some point, through the haze of the drug, the heels of his feet began to ache dully from bearing his weight on the hard floor. When his neck began to hurt too, he allowed his head to droop, resting his face on one arm and closing his eyes.

His dozing was fitful and half-aware.

And for some inexplicable reason, when he dreamed, it was of Tony.

The engineer was in his workshop, bent over a shiny metal coupler and a length of wire with a soldiering iron.

Steve watched from somewhere up above the workbench as Tony rubbed at his eyes and put the tool down. And Steve’s dream was so lucid that he could see Rhodey’s face on the Starkphone's screen as Tony hit the speaker option. He muttered something that didn’t reach Steve’s ears.

That was when the lights snapped back on and Steve felt Rumlow’s hands on his jaw, shaking him back into consciousness. The Collector was there too, towering over Rumlow’s shoulder with eyebrows raised, intently focused on Steve. All in all, it was an unsettling way to be awakened.

“You find out why your party trick didn’t work?” Steve’s words were half slurred with lingering drowsiness.

“Who did you dream about?” Rumlow demanded, jerking Steve’s jaw painfully, forcing his head to an extreme angle.

Steve let out a huff of a laugh. “Are you cataloging dreams too?”

“Speak up, Cap, or else--"

“What, you’ll extract it manually?”

Rumlow slapped him hard with the flat of his palm, right over a bruise, and Steve choked back a groan.

“We don’t have time for this. Just use it,” the Collector said.

Rumlow looked like he would have enjoyed dragging it from Steve’s lips with the end of his taser, but he obeyed, producing another glass vial, this time of clear bubbling solution. He stuck it into Steve’s neck, just below where the silver node still sat buzzing.

This time the effect wasn’t just a feeling of lightness. For the first time in years, Steve actually felt like he was drunk. The sensation was so foreign and half-forgotten that, for a moment, Steve imagined he was back in his old body, where even the tiniest bit of alcohol was debilitating. But no –- he was a long way from that home. He struggled to keep his mind above it all, like a sinking man fighting to stay above waves in the open ocean.

In the end he failed.

“Who did you dream about?” Rumlow demanded again.

“Stark.”

The Hydra agent’s eyebrows rose, just a fraction of an inch. “You think about him often?”

“Just in passing,” Steve’s tongue seemed to move on its own.

“Why?”

This line of questioning was confusing, but whatever the new drug he had been given was, it compelled him to answer. “No point in dwelling on it.”

“Clearly not.” Rumlow’s response made even less sense. He looked over his shoulder at the Collector. “You have what you need?”

The Collector nodded, eyes bright with excitement.

#

Tony surfaced from the workshop sometime after eleven. New York City glowed, a haze of neon and incandescent light bathing the sky. For a while Tony just paused at the window, basking in the calm of the city at night and of the darkened tower.

He had half a mind to stroll out on the tower’s observation deck, a dry martini in hand, and enjoy the cool night air while he waited for Rhodey to show. Things had been…rough since he and Pepper had decided to end things. He reminded himself that seeing her once every three weeks hadn’t been good for _either_ of them. But it was cold comfort.

It would have been worse without Rhodey’s willingness to give things the old college-try, though.

It wasn’t really a rebound if it was a long-standing, no strings attached relationship…was it?

Tony was halfway to the bar to snatch up a tumbler when he caught sight of the disassembled record player on the coffee table. The engineer slid over the back of the leather couch -– manners be damned, it was his house -- and took a look at the gutted components.

He’d pegged Steve as a clean-freak: from the way he did dishes that weren’t his to his to the way the man kept his quarters Spartan and organized. It seemed uncharacteristic for Steve to leave one of his prized possessions out in the middle of everything where anyone could poke or prod at it. (Tony wigged his fingers in anticipation of doing just that.)

In fact, it was one of his only possessions to prize. Tony still recalled when Steve had moved in with only a bag, a box, and the portable record player.

 _“Are you moving, or getting a new cubicle?”_ Tony had asked.

To which Steve had given a good-natured shrug. _“Both? The apartment was SHIELD’s. I think they felt bad at the way I was reacquainted with the world.”_

Why he didn’t just ask Tony to look at it was anyone’s guess because the soldier wasn’t exactly great with electronics. The inventor was a little incensed that he hadn’t, but supposed it was a combination of 40’s era bootstrapping mentality and a stubborn desire to learn more about the modern world. Though just to be sure, Tony did a mental run through the last week, evaluating whether he’d pissed the soldier off recently.

He’d just snaked out a hand to pick up a screwdriver when he heard the cock of a gun behind his right ear.

“Please tell me this is a really late April Fools prank, Clint,” Tony said, trying not to think too hard about the last time he’d heard that sound so close by.

“Who’s Clint?” Came the gravelly reply.

“A sick bastard who would put the gun down after he’d had his laughs.”

“No such luck.”

“Kind of figured that out already.” Tony hesitated. “Do you want…uh, arms in the air? Money?” Whatever he was after, Tony just hoped it didn’t involve putting a bag over his head or strange cars going to places unknown.

“I want to know where Rogers is.”

Tony felt the tension solidify in his shoulders. “Probably sleeping. He gets up early. Come back in a few hours?”

Tony felt the cold muzzle press against the skin of his neck, and he swallowed.

“Already checked his room.”

“Really. Naughty boy, he’s out way past curfew.”

“Hold still,” the voice said, moving, flanking Tony on the right. The engineer winced as a dark, leather clad man came into view, gun trained on Tony’s chest. He was masked, but the long brown hair and the metal arm were a dead-giveaway. Tony could imagine one of those bullets ripping right through the arc reactor. The Winter Soldier would know that was his Achilles heel.

But the worst part? He had Steve’s shield in hand.

“One more chance,” Barnes said, setting the edge of the shield down at his foot with a heavy clang.

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.”

He heard the gun fire, but Tony didn’t feel a thing. His world shifted from the darkness of the tower to a deep blue, and he felt as though he were being yanked bodily by the center of his navel. It wasn’t at all how he had pictured dying. He was supposed to have time to gasp out a poignant speech.

The sensation disappeared almost as soon as it had begun. The world, however, still seemed to be tinted a strange blue, and he could see his own face, a ghostly translucent thing hovering in front of him.

Not a ghost, he realized, stretching out his hand –- a reflection. The smooth surface of the glass was strangely reassuring under his fingers. Beyond it, as he refocused his vision, Tony could see hundreds of glass boxes, and in each a strange figure, alien and grotesque. Yellow blobs clung to the ceiling dripping something green and viscous, a many-headed creature that resembled a cross between a spider and squid curled its tendril appendages against the glass of it's cage, and in another, a ball of fluff tottered around its cage on six legs.

In fact, the only thing that wasn’t alien was in the cell just across from Tony. It was a man, wearing the ragged remains of shorts and nothing else. He was seated upright, but hunched and curled in on himself so that most of what Tony saw was the man’s broad shins. His short blond hair was the only bit of his head visible above the crook of his crossed arms, and his knuckles stood out, white and taut.

“Welcome,” a deep voice said, soothing and relaxed.

He looked over his shoulder and saw a man in red robes, his dark predatory eyes fixed on Tony. He stalked, soft as a cat, around to the other side of the glass where he could see Tony from the front, and he seemed to be sizing the engineer up and down. “I hadn’t thought to find paired specimens before.”

“Specimens?” Tony wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“That is what I call all of the things in my collection.” The man made a vague gesture at the boxes behind him. “You are just the latest addition.”

“Ha…funny joke.” Tony said. “But I’m ready to go home.”

“Oh, I assure you, it’s no joke.”

“Then I’m pretty sure that violates half a dozen international laws. Who are you working for? Hammer?”

The man smiled. “Your earth laws are meaningless here. Consider your own universe but a memory at this point.”

Tony choked down the utter panic that welled inside him. Suddenly he wished it had been as simple as bags over the head and strange cars. Because kidnapping _and_ aliens? It was as if someone had opened his mind and found two of his darkest fears.

But it was worse than even that. Their conversation had roused the man in the other cell. And looking past the man in the red robes, Tony saw blue, scared eyes peeking over the arms.

And he knew them.

Steve Rogers was _cowering_ in the cell next to his.


	2. Chapter 2

Rhodey killed his thrusters a few inches above the landing pad, amused to see the scorch marks he’d left on purpose last time to “break it in” were still there. The suit clunked on the metal catwalk, and he briefly considered discarding it in the living room, but the thought of making Tony pry him out of the silver armor was actually a little exciting.

But upon entering the tower, all pretense for his showing up went out the window.

The place was ransacked.

“Tony?” Rhodey edged into the common area, wary and on high alert, past the overturned couch, glass crunching beneath his feet. He heard feet scrape in the glass behind him and turned, just in time to see the flash of a gun going off. It didn’t do much against his armor and Rhodey kicked on his thrusters.

If Tony was mad about the landing pad, he was going to be livid about his living room. But oh well.

He aimed himself roughly at where the shots had come from and put his shoulder into a half-ton tackle.

“Stark!”

Apparently Rhodey didn’t even have to aim. The man leapt right at him. Rhodey almost laughed –- until the man collided with him, the force of his momentum enough to stop the War Machine armor and drive him back two steps. Moonlight glittered off the man’s gun as it was raised again, but Rhodey was quick, grabbing for the hand and knocking it upward. The ceiling groaned ominously as it was peppered by a round of bullets that could have easily been the same caliber as Rhodey’s smaller shoulder mounted units.

The guy, this close, looked familiar. And with a jolt, Rhodey realized exactly where he’d seen that metal arm before. This was the guy who had had Cap on the run in the streets of New York -– a super soldier, if memory served. Tony had mentioned him…Barnes, was it?

Rhodey twisted the mechanical arm, trying to grapple the Winter Soldier to the ground. But the super soldier slipped from his grasp and connected a kick to his helmet that left Rhodey reeling.

“Where is he!?” Barnes lunged at him, driving his elbow into the soft joint beneath Rhodey’s chin.

Rhodey faltered, and then brought both gauntlets up, letting loose a repulsor blast that struck Barnes point blank in the chest, sending him tumbling across the room. Ultimately he hit the overturned couch with a satisfying crunch.

Rhodey closed in, his silver fingers grasping Barnes’s throat while the man was still stunned. “Tony was supposed to be here. What did you do with him?”

“Nothing,” Barnes voice bubbled up like the blood on his lips. “He disappeared.”

Rhodey flipped the faceplate up, scowling, making it very clear he was, under no terms, willing to play games. “Disappeared?”

“Into thin air.”

“Let’s say I believe you for two minutes. What did you see?”

Barnes’s fingers clawed at Rhodey’s gauntlet. “He turned blue, like a hologram. I thought it was a trick.”

“So you started tearing apart the tower?”

“He wouldn’t tell me where Steve was.”

Rhodey’s eyes narrowed at the name. “And why are you so set on finding Cap?”

“I–“ Barnes’s eyes went blank. “I don’t know. He was -- it was important.”

Rhodey’s eyes scanned the room, even as he had the suit start to scan for frequencies, energy readings, and anything abnormal. And abnormal the room was. He was no physicist, but it was plain from the readings that something major had happened in the room.

“Okay.” He released Barnes’s neck. “Keep talking.”

#

“Round two starts now,” Rumlow announced, waltzing through the door, a black t-shirt in hand. Steve shifted in the restraints.

“Is dirty laundry your next torture device?”

Rumlow snorted. “Oh, you have no idea, Cap.”

Despite his scoffing at the shirt, Steve still tried to maneuver his head backward as Rumlow approached, the shirt balled in his hands. Bizarrely, he swept it under Steve’s nose rather than trying to choke him with it. Steve almost laughed at the absurdity.

Until his cock twitched.

That was disconcerting, and it must have showed on his face. Rumlow grinned like a cat, draping the cotton over Steve’s shoulders.

His sense of the smell was consummate and overwhelming, beyond even what his normal enhanced senses would have picked up. And the masculine smells –- grease and sweat and smoke -– all mingled into something greater than the sum of their parts, refusing to be ignored. It was both wonderfully new and yet strangely familiar.

He shuddered as he felt the cold of the plastic beneath his cock -– hard now, and even Steve’s embarrassment couldn’t will it away.

“You’re such a slut for him, and you don’t even know,” Rumlow grinned. Taking one end of the shirt and pressing it against Steve’s mouth and nose. It was too much, being engulfed by the scent, and Steve came, hips jerking, full of shame.

Rumlow capped off the plastic quickly. And then the grin was back. “Would you like to know whose shirt that was?” he asked.

Steve pressed his lips together and swallowed, not ready with a comeback.

Rumlow pulled the black cotton from his shoulders, and strangely that stirred an ache worse than anything physical that had been inflicted on Steve. Losing the scent was like having a limb ripped away. The Hydra agent made a show of turning it right side out before presenting it for Steve’s viewing.

He’d seen that Black Sabbath shirt a dozen times. He knew the small burn hole at the bottom left. He knew the way the stitching at the sleeves was stretched from constantly being rolled up.

“Where did you get that?”

“From the man himself,” Rumlow said, tossing it to the floor. “Would you like to go meet him?”

When Steve’s jaw remained clamped shut, Rumlow just shrugged. “Not that you really have a choice. The Collector wants to see the complete display.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Rumlow inactivated both of the gravity shackles, then loosed the chain holding Steve’s hands.  The release felt wonderful, but Steve only allowed himself scant seconds to revel in it. While Rumlow was close, he swung at the man, landing a solid blow to the other man’s chin.

The shock from the collar was so quick that its delivery was nearly simultaneous. The voltage was stronger too, Steve thought, twitching on the floor where he fell.

Rumlow made a low noise of disapproval before Steve heard the sound of the door sliding open and heavy footsteps entering the room.

Above him, two blurry reptilian faces hovered, claw-like hands extending toward him. Steve could just see the flash of silver at their throats too as they cocked their heads, listening as Rumlow barked orders to take Steve somewhere that didn't sound like an English word.

He felt their scaly claws closing around his upper arms, dragging him, facing backward, along the floor.

Rumlow followed, a smug smile on his face. The bastard was enjoying this. “Mustn’t keep the master waiting.”

#

“Steve?” Tony’s hands were pressed against the glass. In the cold air his skin was covered in goose bumps (the bastards had taken his beloved shirt) but he could ignore that for now. At present, he was preoccupied with trying to get the other man to respond to him.

He had just seen Steve less than forty-eight hours before. He'd been his usual far-too-chipper for eight in the morning self then. How could someone so vibrant become a quivering wreck -- unwilling to even look Tony in the eye -- in that amount of time?

“Steve,” the glass made a deep resonating clang as he hit the heel of his fist against it. “What did they do to you?”

When the man finally looked up, his blue eyes were haunted. “Everything.”

“What?” Tony blinked, stunned.

“You shouldn’t make them mad,” Steve’s voice came through the glass, weak and faint. “Or they’ll do it to you, too.”

“What do you mean?”

But Steve’s lips pressed together tightly and his arms tightened around his shoulders. His eyes tracked on something behind Tony.

One of the sides of the glass cage dissolved in a shimmer. Tony had only seconds to react. But even if he’d been prepared to make a break, he wouldn’t have been ready for the disheveled blond super soldier that two reptilian bipeds tossed in toward him.

He caught Steve’s dead weight with difficulty, nearly crushed flat to the floor by the bulk of the bigger man’s muscle and leather uniform. In his arms, Steve groaned and shifted, turning his head and revealing an ugly purpling bruise. Through the reformed glass, Tony glared, first at the monstrous bipeds, then at a brown haired man that joined them.

And then Tony glanced from one super soldier to the other, confusion writ into every inch of his face.

“I see you’ve met the omega,” the brown haired man said.

The Steve in the other cell seemed to shrink at the man even taking notice of him. Tony felt his hackles rise, watching the man’s eyes narrow at the omega –- whatever that was. Rogers, Tony decided to call him.

“I want you to have them on display for tomorrow night,” Tony heard the Collector before he saw the swish of red robes.

In his arms, Tony felt Steve shift restlessly at the voice.

“Tomorrow?” There was uncertainty in the brown haired henchman’s voice.

“For the demonstration, of course.” The Collector’s eyes twinkled.

“You said we’d have four weeks to break him in.”

 _To_ break _him in?_ _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_ Tony’s heart hammered in his chest.

“You will. But your Hydra superiors want a chance to see the new Captain _before_. None of us want to see the same mistakes as last time. The omega was such a disappointment. No glory in breaking a weak thing.”

The Collector’s eyes lingered on the Steve crouching fearful and alone in his cell.

“Put him on display too,” the Collector said. “I want to make a point of just how different the two are.”

#

“Can I just saw how weird this is?” Bruce said, holding a small device near the window and watching the counter fluctuate.

“What?” Rhodey asked, the gears in his suit whirring as he crossed his arms.

“ _Him._ ” Bruce fixated on the readings, but it was clear he was watching Barnes out of the corner of his eyes.

Barnes, for his part, was stoic and silent. If Bruce’s discomfort upset him, Rhodey would never know. He suspected Barnes didn’t care though.

“Maybe his programming didn’t include a scenario for _follow the mark when they’re kidnapped into another dimension.”_ Rhodey shrugged. “Maybe it rebooted the system. I don’t care as long as he doesn’t have a gun pointed at my head.”

“Mmm,” Bruce sounded unmoved. He shifted where he stood minutely, and the counter started ticking wildly. “Was this near where you were standing?” He asked Barnes.

The Winter Soldier nodded.

“Then this is the point,” Bruce said and frowned at his readings. “But we’re not talking another dimension. This…” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What?” It was the only thing Barnes had said the entire time. His whole demeanor changed too, shifting into a ready stance.

“I’m still new to understanding portal technology,” Bruce admitted. “But this seems to indicate they were taken to another _universe_.”

“Well,” Rhodey groaned. “Things are rarely simple with Tony. Can you open up a way for us to follow?”

“The traces are weak,” Bruce said, but he nodded. “I think it’s doable, though.”

"When can we leave?" Rhodey and Barnes asked in unison.

"We?" Bruce blinked. "Without a way to contain the other guy--"

Well, Rhodey certainly wasn't going by himself. He looked over at Barnes and sighed inwardly. He wouldn’t be the worst partner in the world. Probably. At least the man had military training and knew how to fire a gun. “Okay,” he said, “pack your bags.”

#

Oddly enough, Steve noticed the smell first. It was that same scent that had first tantalized him at Rumlow’s hands. Which meant--

Steve’s dredged himself back into the waking world and was greeted with bleary, confused brown eyes. It took Steve a moment to figure out his head was pillowed in the engineer’s lap.

He twisted, wincing as he fell on his shoulder, but getting a shaking hand beneath himself -- a silver band clamped around each of his wrists, just like the collar.

“You okay?” Tony asked, as Steve stumbled to the opposite side of the glass box, running his fingers along the smooth cage wall. Even then, the smell of Tony was too much. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had the same reaction that Rumlow had elicited during sample collection.

More than anything else, that thought lead to him ramming the glass with his shoulder.

He let out a groan as he slid down the still very much intact wall.

“Steve?” Tony sounded worried. “How long have you been here?”

Initial panic subsiding, and no ill effects felt yet, Steve grimaced and rubbed at the collar on his neck, then allowed himself to meet Tony’s eyes. “I’m not sure. A few days? What are you doing here?”

Tony just shrugged, a weak grin on his face. “I guess it isn’t for the money.”

That was when he became aware of his double in the cage next to them.

It was a surreal moment, seeing himself half naked and huddled in the cage, the fluorescent lights and the blue tint of the glass tinging his skin a sickly washed out color. His eyes were bright, the crease of the eyebrows strange and unreadable.

Just as odd for him as it is for me, Steve realized.

#

When Rumlow appeared he had more of the reptilian sentries in tow, two for Tony, two for Steve, two for the omega, and a seventh with three lengths of chain held ominously in its hands. 

Rumlow pressed his hand against a device on the outside of the cage so that the fourth wall flickered away, and despite the odds, Steve tried to force his way out.

Just as it had before, the shock went straight through Steve, this time contorting him till it felt like his spine would snap. Rumlow’s helpers seized Steve again, dragging him out of the cage while Rumlow held another of the shock collars, advancing on Tony.

“Oh, no thank you,” Tony held up a hand, backing further into the cell. “I’m really not into that kind of thing.”

He struggled as Rumlow grabbed for him. But Rumlow was stronger, and a solid blow from the shock rod left the engineer dazed as the Hydra agent clamped the piece of metal around his neck, smooth and featureless but for a single ring.

“You saw what it did to the big guy,” Rumlow warned. “I’d suggest cooperating.”

The three prisoners were thus marched and dragged through the halls of the Collector’s ship. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the shock, but the corridors seemed to twist and turn, growing wider and thinner at whim. At times they turned down halls that seemed to stretch the length of a football stadium, only for them to reach the end in a few paces.

“What kind of place is this?” Tony muttered, whether to Steve or to their escorts, it didn’t matter. He didn’t get an answer.

Ultimately they were ushered into a large, domed room, and Steve marveled at the feel of actual grass beneath his bare feet instead of the cold stainless steel of the ship’s floors. Stars sparkled through the glass above, and all around them grew exotic trees, shrubs, and flowers.

“Welcome to the terrarium,” Rumlow said.

He led the two Avengers to a metal post placed beneath one of the larger willow-like trees. Instead of draping green leaves, its foliage was purple, and each branch dripped with bright red flowers. It was surreal on so many levels. But for the alien twist to the flora – flowers like roses that had triangular buds, or vines that twisted around the trunk of a tree, growing and shrinking as if they were breathing –- the place was serene and tranquil.

The post wasn’t much –- no more than a knee's height off the ground. Rumlow fastened them to it with an uncomfortably short amount of chain, hooked into the back of their collars, forcing them to stand closer together with their back to the pole before moving on to their hands. Steve’s nostrils flared briefly, being chained so close to Tony.

Rumlow, the sick bastard, caught sight of it and he snorted, but he didn’t say anything as he worked, just cinched them up tight.

Once secured, they watched as Rumlow strode a few paces across the grass,, pointing to another metal pole and barking orders at the reptilian sentries.

If Steve had been a stubborn donkey, then the one they were calling an “omega” was following like a lamb to the slaughter.

Or no –- perhaps not. The other man caught his eye, and Steve realized that his double knew something horrible was coming. His gaze seemed to say, “ _it’s not worth struggling_ ,” that fighting was useless. But fighting back was all Steve had ever known.

Seeing a mirror version of himself that had given up was far worse than anything Rumlow could have ever done.

“Wonder how long he’s been here,” Steve said in a low voice.

“Rogers?” Tony shifted as Rumlow hooked the omega to the post, and the engineer's eyes tracked across the terrarium, tense, and just a little unfocused. “Hard to say. I'm sure this place would do things to you if you were alone.”

“You going to be okay?” Steve asked, and when the engineer didn’t respond, Steve brushed his shoulder against the other man's. “Tony?”

Tony blinked and shook his head. “Fine. Just thinking about what they said last night.”

“Rumlow?” Steve nodded at the Hydra agent’s back.

“And the alien. They said something about a demonstration.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Steve asked in a low whisper.

Tony raised his eyebrows at him. “Odds are pretty good. Or bad, depending on how you look at it.”

His work finished, Rumlow gave them a mock salute. “You boys have fun tonight,” his voice was low and amused as he checked Rogers’s restraints one more time before slipping into the forest.

Whatever it was they were here for, it didn’t start right away. Beside Steve, Tony brought his bound arms tight to his bare chest and rubbed, trying to stave off shivers and failing. Steve toyed with the idea of pressing in closer the man. He at least had his uniform.

Waking up in Tony’s arms had been something. Steve still wasn’t sure what that entailed -– a good or a bad something.

On his end of things, it had been the sole pleasant experience since his arrival on the Collector’s ship. On the other hand, the fact that they’d bothered to bring Tony here couldn’t be good because he suspected they wouldn’t have done so without good reason. Given what had happened earlier with the shirt Steve was puzzled and worried.

Maybe they wanted to humiliate him in front of Stark? That was the only explanation that Steve could see. He considered just telling the other man outright about the few fantasies he’d had. But the words caught on his tongue, heavy and hard to say. Before he could force the words out, Steve heard voices, heavily accented German ones, coming through from the doors. The small group of men were all uniformed in the same drab olive, with bands around the arm, a many headed serpent in black against a red background.

Across from them, Rogers was wide eyed, his mouth parted and slack.

“Do you think we stand a chance of breaking out?” Tony’s voice was soft, barely a ghost on his ear.

Steve stared at the approaching faces, all cruel smiles and eagerness, and he choked down the bile in his throat and shook his head. One face in particular, wearing a monocle and a leer, swam into Steve’s view, locking eyes with him, and Steve had a sinking feeling –- a moment of clarity where he knew they weren’t just chained trophies.

The nazi stopped in front of their post, a faintly green drink cocked in one hand. It smelled of strong liquor and had an olive on a toothpick.

“Well, well. You _are_ an interesting one,” the man said, voice thick with amusement. “Younger than this universe’s version of you was.” He held out a hand, as if to turn Steve’s chin and examine him, before thinking better and withdrawing. Steve didn’t miss the gesture, neck stiff with defiance. “Tell me, do you know me?”

“Haven’t had the _pleasure_ ,” Steve replied with narrowed eyes.

“Ah,” the nazi sounded obscenely please by that response. “So much _vim_. Rumlow will have a good time with you. I am his commanding officer, Baron von Strucker.”

“Tivan won’t make it easy for Rumlow, mark my words,” another voice said. Even raspy and filtered as it was, Steve had heard it so recently there was no doubt in his mind. Zola. Gears hissed, and a robot with a screen for a face came to stand beside Strucker. He was at least a head taller than the Hydra leader and towered above even Steve. “You ought to make the Collector prove the claim. Natural pairs are rare. And only extreme circumstances can create them _de novo_. Shame. They’d be so useful as agents. I tried several experiments...”

_Natural pair?_

“Look,” Strucker laughed. “He’s confused. They don’t _know._ ”

“Of course they don’t,” Zola sounded irritable. “In their universe, they have only vague, sentimental concepts of soulmates. They wouldn’t recognize the symptoms of a bonding pair. If they’ve only been here a few days, the symptoms won’t be unusual yet.”

 _Soulmates?_ For a guy who had spent most of his life ignored by the opposite sex and pushed around by his own, that kind of thing was something that happened in the movies. The insinuation that here it was a literal thing -– that that was why they had brought Tony here –- his head spun and the blood drained from his face.

“Even in this universe, the phenomenon is so rare that I am _deeply_ surprised they realized it so soon,” Zola said.

“We shouldn’t be so quick to point the finger at our host,” Strucker replied, watching Steve’s reaction with smug satisfaction. “After all, he’s been very accommodating. The advancement he provided for our ship’s warp drive alone–-”

“I’ll be happier when I discover what makes inter-universal travel so much easier so that we can end the arrangement. I think he is just looking for a way to cheat us out of another super soldier. Watch. He will find a reason to keep the next one too –- he’ll claim it’s secretly a werewolf or the last of its species.”

“Zola, Zola,” the Collector’s quiet arrival was only given away by his entry into the conversation. “If the next one you locate _is_ a werewolf, you’ve only yourself to blame for your algorithm pinpointing specimens of unique physiology. What worry is it to wait for the third or fourth in your would-be squadron of super-men? Or are you so eager to return to your inefficient trans-dimensional travel? ”

“Without my algorithm to find universes with super soldiers, you would have a long, tiring hunt.”

“Which is why we have our deal, and why it stands this time.” The Collector sighed. “I was hoping Schmidt would be here to see the new one.”

Strucker cleared his throat. “Urgent business came up. But I speak for him and all of Hydra when I say we agree. It is certainly in our best interest to continue working together.” His nasty eyes gleamed at Steve. “You are fortunate, tonight,” he explained. “Hands off, as it were, while Rumlow works.”

“Then why am I _here?_ ” Steve grit his teeth, pulling against the chains that kept him in place.

“To see what awaits you,” Zola’s voice pitched upward, the static sounding almost entertained.

“Shall I demonstrate?” Strucker asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. He waved a finger, a signal of some sort, and the post that Rogers was chained to sank slowly into the ground, pulling him down onto his knees. Some of the other Hydra agents in the room looked on eagerly, plainly knowing something that Steve did not.

“You _will_ be Hydra’s,” Strucker said over his shoulder. “Even the ones that stay in Tivan’s collection have a use…if only in teaching us how to reshape the next subject.”

“And other banalities,” Zola said dryly.

Strucker snorted. “Your counterpart will not be so lucky tonight.” And he stopped in front of Rogers. The omega knelt in the soft green grass, eyes fixed on his hands and his whole body scrunched. “It is time for you to serve again, Captain. _Ausbeute._ ”

At hearing the German, Rogers went still and rigid, his eyes becoming fixed and shallow, as if the depth of his soul had been ripped out. Seeing his reaction, Strucker leaned down, unlocked the chain from his collar and wound it around the omega's hands. After a few moments of waiting, the Baron tapped his foot, impatient.

“What have we taught you about showing gratitude?”

With difficulty, owing to his hands being hobbled in front of him, Rogers crawled to Strucker’s boot and bent down, kissing the polished leather toe.

“Good boy,” Strucker murmured.

Steve watched, horrified, as Strucker’s hand tangling itself in Rogers’s blond hair, as though he were petting a dog. “Did you miss your master while I was away?”

“Yes,” there was nothing behind the voice, no emotion, no earnestness. They were hollow words, route and practiced. But Strucker smiled nonetheless and took the olive from his drink, holding it in front of Rogers’s nose. “Are you hungry? Rumlow always did enjoy _withholding_ things.”

Steve felt his own stomach growl traitorously and Zola laughed. “This one is.”

Strucker opening his palm toward Steve. “Oh?” Even at several paces, Steve’s heightened sense of smell teased him. His stomach was empty, and it clenched painfully at the salty, briny smell.

“Are you willing to beg for it?”

Steve clenched his jaw shut stubbornly.

“You will in time. There will be no Hydra order too small or too great for you to ignore.” Strucker assured Steve before his attention turned back to the omega. “Watch and see.”

Zola made a noise of disgust.

Strucker ignored him, grasping Rogers by the chin. “Have the guards show you to my room. Wait on your knees. However long it takes, I expect you to be there, _ready_.”

At his side, Steve felt Tony’s shudder. The engineer whispered something to him, but Steve didn’t catch the meaning. All Steve could hear was the rush of his own furious blood, the quickened beat of his heart, and the memory of Rumlow’s insistent voice, telling him to get on his knees.


	3. Chapter 3

Banner’s portal to another universe –- what he dubbed a “translocation device” –- worked like a charm.

Unfortunately, it also happened to make Bucky sick.

Fortunately, there was a gutter.

Bucky felt his nose burn as his stomach heaved and acid flooded everything. He coughed, gasped, and then with an iron will, pulled himself together.

“Any idea where we are?” Rhodey asked, voice flat, impossible to read behind the suit’s mask as he scanned the empty street they’d wound up on. If Rhodes suspected Banner of foul play, it was impossible to tell. Why Banner would cross them, Bucky didn’t know, he just suspected nasty things of _everyone._ Better to just make it a general policy.

“No,” Bucky swung his head around, “but the signs don’t look like anything from home.”

They were printed in a strange script, like a cross between Chinese and runes, and they glowed in a wide array of neon colors over small shops.

The street itself was cramped, barely wide enough for Rhodes and Bucky to walk abreast without bumping into tin doors or walls made of scrap that jutted at odd angles. A man -– no, a _something_ with a scaly trunk on its face and antennae rounded the corner, paying the two humans no attention as it brushed past them on its way to God-knows-where.

“Bruce did say non-terrestrial,” Rhodes said, flipping the faceplate up. He didn’t manage to mask the surprise in his eyes at seeing an alien walk by so nonchalantly. Even the invasion of New York, it seemed, hadn’t fully integrated the idea of aliens into his scheme of the world.

“So where do we go for answers?”

Rhodes shrugged. “If I knew that, we’d be on our way by now.”

Bucky scanned the street, his metal hand clenching, eager to extract answers by any means necessary. But all of his programming and conditioning concerned East German rendezvous, or cold war dead drops. They had nothing to offer in a place like this.

Or...perhaps they did. In a new place, the goal was always to recruit information sources. Credible and reliable ones were hard to come by and required a lot of gardening. But for simple information that anyone would know, a drunk looking for someone to buy the next round was usually good enough.

Surely aliens had bars.

It took less than ten minutes of wandering for Bucky to locate one. He followed his sense of smell toward the vinegary aroma of dried piss and cheap beer. The place would have been identifiable as a dive bar, no matter what culture, from the stench to the way the windows were shuttered, making it impossible to see in.

Bucky was well rewarded once they stepped through the door. Inside, the place was teeming with all sorts of creatures and burbling with conversation. He didn’t even need to look for the drunk, the drunk came to him in the shape of a small, green, goblin-like creature with huge ears and beady eyes.

And as it turned out, it spoke perfect English.

It tugged at the hem of his pants and shouted in a guttural voice, “Cough up the credits, Quill, and your friend won’t get made into kindling.”

“What?”

“Playing dumb won’t help. The longer you stall, the more firewood we’ll have.”

“I think you have the wrong person,” Rhodes tried to protest diplomatically. But the goblin’s fingers became insistent, curling like claws into the black material of Bucky’s uniform.

“Oh, you’re a funny one!” It sneered. “Stop being cheap, Quill! If you can’t get me the credits-–”

“I’m not Quill,” Bucky growled, his metal arm seizing the alien by one of its large ears.

Bucky felt heat on his face as one of the goblin’s friends, a huge hairy creature that looked like a bipedal dog, leveled a gun in his face. It seemed to be powered by a small nuclear furnace.

“Would have been so much simpler if you’d just cooperated,” the goblin sighed. “Oh well. You’ll at least get me a good price on the slave auction.”

#

Bucky and Rhodes found themselves marching at gunpoint out into the alley, hands held high. Rhodes had once again tried to persuade the goblin that there had been a mistake, but the dog-creature’s gun had hissed as whatever powered it revved up, and Rhodes’s mouth had quickly shut.

From the look of the many piers they passed and the wide variety of lifeforms, they were probably on a docking station -– an interstellar refueling depot. Everything seemed to be a “wharf” or a “port” from the way the goblin talked.

“Stop,” the alien said, halting their odd little group in front of a clunky looking ship. The hull had parts that had come from at least three different ships. “Up you go!” said the goblin, prodding Bucky in the back with his gun as a ramp lowered.

Both men looked up the hatch door into the belly of a ship with a certain amount of dubiousness. The ship could prove useful in further refining the data they had on Steve’s location. Assuming it didn’t fall out of the sky first.

And then something that looked like a living tree moved inside the ship, poking a branch covered face out of the hatch.

“I am Groot?” it said.

Bucky stood stock still, even as the gun pressed, searing hot, into his back.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rhodes muttered beside him, as equally frozen.

“Come on,” the goblin grumbled. “Up you go, Quill.”

“I’m not Quill!”

“He’s right you know,” a voice floated through the street, and Bucky twisted to see a man in a leather duster leaning against a pile of crates, a plasma pistol in one hand and what might as well have been a rabid raccoon at his feet.

The goblin squinted from the newcomer to Bucky. “Well, you all look alike to me.” In a low voice, Bucky heard him mutter to his friend. “Activate the ship’s internal defenses. We’ll have them in-–“

Bucky didn’t even hear the gun. And in retrospect, that was because there was none. He looked down to find the goblin lying face down in a pool of his own blue blood, his friend making a horrible choking sound on the ground beside him. And standing over them, a green woman cleaning her blades.

Well, color Bucky intrigued.

“Thanks for being a diversion,” the man in the duster loped toward them and pulled off the mask. He had a goofy grin plastered on his face that Bucky immediately hated. The green lady rolled her eyes as he stretched out an eager hand. “Don’t see many other Earthers out here.”

Bucky just looked at the hand with mingled disgust and scorn.

Rhodes took the proffered hand instead. “Lieutenant Rhodes, USAF.”

“Oh wow, Peter Quill, EFG.”

Rhodes raised one eyebrow. “I’m… not familiar with that one.”

“Oh…uh…I thought maybe it was a translation thing.”

Bucky glared, while Rhodes looked politely perplexed.

“You know, like if your speech was going through the space port's universal translator, it would change the letters into...you know what? Never mind.”

Rhodes nodded, the smile looking very forced.

“So you’re Quill, then?” Bucky asked gruffly, surveying the assembled aliens. “Seems to me you owe us one.”

The green woman bristled. “We don’t–-“

Quill raised his hands and made a face, halfway between embarrassed and _be cool!_ “What did you have in mind?”

“You have a ship?”

Quill looked over his shoulder with a grin. “We do now.”

#

The second night in the cell was worse than when they’d left him trussed up. 

The Hydra agents hadn’t touched him, but they’d propositioned the Collector about taking Tony for experimentation. The alien had been adamant that the two were to be treated as a whole specimen. Steve and Tony had been taken back before the gathering in the terrarium ended. And the whole night Steve had had trouble sleeping, tossing and turning in one corner of the cell. His stomach ached, but it was nothing compared to seeing himself groveling on the floor in front of the heads of Hydra, or of imagining what Strucker might be doing to Rogers even now.

At the other end of the cell, Tony was curled up in a ball, trying his best to catch something resembling sleep. But every time Steve’s super hearing caught his breath become slower and deeper, he jerked wide awake again.

Tony finally shifted, sitting up, rubbing the bridge of nose.

“I wish you could think about something happier,” he muttered. “Like rainbows or puppies or thermonuclear design.”

“Why?”

“I thought it was just a strange dream, at first,” Tony rubbed at his eyes. “It’s not hard to imagine what’s on your mind…But I’m becoming increasingly convinced that I can hear what you’re thinking when I start to drift off.”

Steve froze.

“Yeah.” Tony just shook his head, dark eyes red and bloodshot, and Steve wondered when he had last slept.

“How is that even possible?”

Tony shrugged his eyebrows knitting as he stared over Steve’s shoulder, contemplating the data. “Option one, I’m drugged to my eyeballs and hallucinating all this. Which would be really convenient. Option two…they weren’t playing mind games. Either the symptoms they mentioned are progressing, or something’s different, because it wasn’t like this last night. Maybe it’s because of what happened back there?”

Steve leaned his head back against the glass, his throat bobbing. “Maybe." He gazed at the empty cage across from them. "He’s not back yet.”

“They wouldn’t kill him."

No, from what they’d learned, Hydra wouldn’t. Not while the Collector still considered them his rightful property. But in some ways, perhaps it would have been kinder.

Tony’s lips twitched, illuminated by the blue glow of the naked arc reactor – not quite a smile, not quite a frown, and he sniffed. “Unless you think you can come up with a way to break the glass, there’s nothing we can do for now. And plans won’t make themselves if we’re too tired to think straight.”

Steve nodded, tucking his chin to the star on his chest, and trying to think of happier things, for Tony’s sake.

He didn’t think sleep would come for him. Knowing that Tony could glimpse what was on his mind was unnerving, the perfect cherry on top of a everything that had come to pass that evening. Because most of his fondest thoughts and memories were also his most private. So he tried to think of something general. He thought about Peggy and seeing her on the film at the Smithsonian exhibit. And he thought about how different film was now, so ubiquitous. Not like when a theater was the only place to see something. _That’s tech,_ he could imagine Tony saying _._

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been in a movie theater. Possibly, it hadn’t been since the day Bucky had found him getting roughed up.

It hurt to think about Bucky, but in such a bittersweet way.

And he had so many memories of the man: from boyhood, Bucky swearing to his mother that Steve’s black eye was an accident (it wasn’t), to crossing the harbor together on a frosty winter morning, the ship nearly capsizing with every swell. But it had been Bucky’s first paycheck, and he’d wanted to get out of the city -– do something fun. Steve had nearly gone overboard at one point, but Bucky had caught him by the wrist and kept both his feet on deck.

“He seemed nice,” Tony murmured, eyes still closed.

“He was,” Steve sighed. But if Tony had to see something, he was happy it was of Buck in better times. “Not working?”

“Your mind is like an angry, buzzing circuit breaker.”

“Sorry.”

He heard Tony shift again, and when he looked up the engineer had scooted forward, halfway across the cell. There was an invisible line that he seemed unwilling to cross.

“Things weren’t so bad the first night when we were closer,” Tony pointed out.

“I was also out cold.”

Tony shrugged. “Or maybe it’s the way the symptoms work. We could at least try it before I break my hand knocking you out.”

Steve blinked, but Tony was earnest. And he looked so tired. So fighting down his fears that he was about to do something foolish, Steve met Tony at that invisible line. As Tony moved closer and put an arm around his waist, Steve stiffened but didn’t flinch. And after a few moments Tony laid his head on his shoulder.

“Good thing I didn’t punch you,” Tony muttered, sleep thick in his voice. “Nice and quiet now.”

Steve stayed silent, but some of the tension left his shoulders.

#

Without a sun, or even a shift in the stars, it was hard to tell the passing of time. It had been like that in the cave in Afghanistan too. But at least in the cave, Tony had regular meals. And even though he couldn’t understand the language, Yinsen had taught him to recognize the cadence of an Adhan, reminding those that were faithful among the Ten Rings to pray every morning, noon, and night.

The only analog to night and day on the Collector's ship seemed to be a dimming of the lights.

In the short time that he had lived in the tower, Steve had been up like clockwork every morning at six. Without anything more accurate, Tony had started using that as his marker for the passing of time, along with the lights, and the erratic trips by the sentries: bringing water, or herding groups of humanoids into cleaning facilities.

In the downtime, Steve had tried, again without success, to ram his shoulder through the glass. None of his attempts had brought about a shock from the collar –- which Tony hoped meant they weren’t actively being monitored with a surveillance system. But Steve also hadn’t even so much as been able to put a crack into it -– worrisome in its own right –- so maybe Rumlow and the Collector didn’t _need_ to. And without his suit and gadgets, the sum total of what Tony was able to bring to the table was: _it’s really strong glass._

It came as a nasty shock, when –- wide awake –- Steve had heard that thought. And Tony was pretty sure that the inward groan _he’d_ heard was because of that.

It was a whole new level of _symptom_ that he didn’t want to think about, much less the potential ramifications. But, unlike their blond neighbor, who had yet to be returned, all of Tivan’s other “exhibits” didn’t seem to speak English -– or speak at all.

With little to do, experimentation seemed like the only logical place to go.

At first Steve hesitated, private man that he was. But when Tony pointed out in a low voice that they could almost certainly use it to their advantage in escaping, he finally relented.

Touch, as they had noticed between the first and second night, dampened the effects. As little as a finger or hand pressed to bare skin was able to replicate the effect. Feelings and images could easily be transmitted. Direct thoughts and sensations could be perceived as well, though Tony found he had to be particularly tired or concentrating very hard on the same thing as Steve for the message to get through.

On the next morning, Rumlow reappeared with a sack over his shoulder. Rogers limped along dutifully behind the Hydra agent, quiet and with that same blank look in the eye. Once he was within the glass cage again, Rumlow said something quiet -– too low for even Steve to hear -- and the effect was immediate. Rogers’s chest heaved as though he were taking his first gasps of breath in a very long time. And there was an awful strangled noise, half sob, before Tony saw Rogers clamp a hand over mouth and turn his back to them.

Tony couldn’t tell where his revulsion and anger ended and Steve’s began.

And that was when Tony realized Rumlow’s gaze had drifted from Rogers to them.

He’d seen the look before, when he refused to build weapons for the Ten Rings, and it was enough to make his heart race faster.

Steve, on the other hand, looked like a snake ready to strike, but his face had gone white. Tony groped for the blond, in what he hoped wasn’t an obvious manner -– just a touch on the shoulder to keep his memories out of the other man’s mind. They were the last thing Steve needed.

He saw Rumlow’s eyes register the move. Then the man nodded, a smile on his face and an evil twinkle in his eye as he strolled over.

“I’m sure you missed me,” he said, pressing his palm to the cage. This time Steve tensed, but didn’t move as he tossed the canvas sack inside. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you. “Food,” he explained, “and something to look forward to.”

Once he’d left, Tony let go and glanced at from one Steve to the other. Rogers’s broad back was still turned to them and he lay motionless on his side, but every now and then the muscles twitched, and they heard the his of breath taken in through clenched teeth.

“Steve?” Steve called, a hand pressed to the glass. But the omega didn’t respond.

 _Maybe he isn’t ready to talk,_ Tony thought, thinking of his return from Afghanistan and how _dearly_ he’d wanted to just forget it had happened -– to return to a sense of normalcy. Or waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat -- how often had that happened? How many times had he wished he could scrub away the memory of losing power on the other side of the wormhole?

He hadn’t meant for the thoughts to travel to Steve, but there could be no mistaking the reason Steve looked sharply back at Tony, as if seeing him with fresh eyes.

“You’d know him better than me, though,” Tony said quickly, averting his eyes and snatching up the sack, anything to busy himself.

He’d thought that had all made it into his SHIELD file.

 _It was._ He felt Steve’s mind mingling with his own thoughts. _But it’s…different hearing it like that._

Tony dug into the sack gingerly, finding hard, plum colored squares. He brought one to his nose, smelled sugar, and gave it a tentative lick before stuffing the thing into his mouth and tossing several to Steve. Steve ignored them, even though Tony was sure he must be starving.

 _If they know how much it rattles you to see him like that, they’ll do it again._ Their wordless conversation was getting easier and easier.

A look of pure, helpless fury flickered on Steve’s face. _I know._

 _So how do we get him and us out?_ Tony chewed on the gummy, flavorless sugar cube as he rooted in the bag again. His fingers brushed a leather handle before he registered what the rest of the contents of the bag were.

He shut it quickly.

But not before Steve caught that something was wrong. “What?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose and he held out his hand. _Don’t I?_

_I really think not._

_At this rate I’ll find out, no matter what._

_Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you_.

Tony passed the bag to him and Steve pulled the leather-bound whip handle out of the bag slowly. Surprise and resignation dueled for dominance on his features as he slid it back into the bag and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

“Steve,” Tony said, seeing Steve’s brow furrow. “Rumlow’s trying to get into your head."

“I noticed. He's doing a good job of it."

"That doesn’t mean you have to go along with it.”

Steve let out a grim, clipped laugh. "You have any suggestions?”

For a moment, Tony was at a loss. And then he remembered how clearly the brine of the sea and the cold of the wind had come through in Steve’s memory of Bucky. “Have you ever been to Hawaii?”

“No.”

Tony called up in his mind the last time he had been to the one of the islands, on a quiet stretch of beach, just the crash of the blue green waves and the breeze rustling through the palm trees.

Steve gave Tony a half smile and sat back against the glass with crossed his arms. “That’s what you find calming?”

Tony arched a dark eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“I was born and bred in Brooklyn and then joined the _army_. Where are all people?”

Tony snorted. _Fine._ He conjured up London and Trafalgar square, hundreds of people milling about the column of Lord Nelson.

And Steve sent back his own memories of London: of street corners turned into piles of shattered bricks and splintered wood, broken glass and men shifting through the rubble, scaffolding going up as damage from the Little Blitz was repaired. And he sent memories of better times came too, of pubs packed with men in uniform, and roaring big band music.

 _My ears._ Tony joked.

 _You’re going to complain about_ my _music?_

_Only if you get it stuck in your head._

And then, because it seemed like a good idea at the time, Tony started playing back the opening riff of AC/DC’s “T.N.T” in his mind.

_Oh, God..._

Steve seemed less than pleased.

_Damn right I’m not._

So Tony switched over to “Rock You Like a Hurricane.”

_Where is your mute button?_

_Do you do anything besides complain?_

Steve pushed the heel of his palms into his eyes and didn’t answer that.

 _Compromise on Jerry Lee Lewis?_ Tony asked, because as cute as Steve’s old man tendencies were, frustrating him wasn’t actually the goal.

_Thanks. I have no idea who that is, though. Sam suggested Marvin Gaye -– do you know any of his songs?_

Tony turned red, realizing that Captain America now knew he coexisted in Tony’s thoughts alongside the word “cute.”

 _I can probably give you a best of…_ Having an excellent memory, at least when he wasn’t drunk, often came in handy –- but this was certainly the strangest use he’d ever come up with for it.

The first song that came to mind was, “I Heard it Through the Grapevine.” So that’s where Tony started, and he took it from there. It probably wasn't perfect, but it was close enough.

 _Not a half-bad stand in for Steve Rogers’s record player._ He bragged.

 _Yeah,_ Steve sent back, _but only slightly better, and only when it’s broken._

#

He wasn’t sure how long he kept up the silent serenade for Steve. At some point the super soldier's eyes fell shut, his head nodded to the side, and the rise and fall of the blue and white uniform slowed, becoming steady and deep.

Tony glanced at Rogers, still lying where he had before. Tony rubbed at the back of his neck, at a loss for what to do.

At least in the cave he had had work to keep his mind busy. Here he didn’t have many options. If he could convince the Collector to let him out, to start building again, maybe he could figure out where they were. But that was all contingent on whether Steve stayed with Tivan or was sent off with Hydra.

And if the worst happened…if Steve became one of Hydra’s foot-soldiers, what happened to Tony? Hydra didn’t have the least bit of interest in him. Would he be left with the Collector? Would Tivan even _want_ half of a soulmate pair?

Because if he didn’t, Tony really doubted the alien had much interest in returning him home.

#

The brightening of the lights for “morning” came too soon, and with it Rumlow.

The Hydra agent stood at the mouth of the cell, hand outstretched. At first Steve refused to budge. There was really only one thing Rumlow could be asking for, and it was sitting in the canvas sack still.

“Fetch it for me,” Rumlow ordered. “Or your _soulmate_ gets a shock. Your call, but I don’t like the chances for that gadget in his chest.”

Steve moved stiffly after that, retrieving the whip, and handing it over. He cast one last glance at Tony before following Rumlow.

#

Unfortunately, neither Steve nor Tony had anticipated the possibility that using the bond might make it grow stronger, or that it was capable of become something they couldn’t control again.

But that was exactly what happened.

It started at first as voices. Tony could hear Rumlow purring, _“Pain is the only path to obedience.”_

And Steve’s mouthy response: _“You’d make a great 1940’s nun.”_

Then he heard the crack of the whip, and he _felt_ it, like a knife dragged across his back. Seconds later another slash cut across his back in the other direction. Tony gasped and clutched at his shoulder and the awful stinging sensation that lingered there, but his fingers came away with no blood.

 _“Beg me to stop,”_ Rumlow laughed.

_“And rob of you of having a good time?”_

Tony closed his eyes –-

_–- and he could see them. Like a wraith in the corner he watched as Rumlow’s eyes narrowed and as he brought his hand to the black band at his wrist._

_Tony–-?_

_And Tony wasn’t sure if Steve’s question had been out loud or not before he felt the collar sizzle his nerve endings._

He opened his eyes, clutching at the arc reactor, but though it glowed a steady blue, he shook like he had been shocked, blowing out puffs of panicked breath. He reminded himself that he wasn’t actually in that room –- that for him it wasn’t real. But his hands still trembled.

 _Tony are you okay?_ The engineer felt like he was being shocked all over again, hearing the alarm and confusion in Steve’s thoughts. Like a man trying to plug holes in a crumbling dam, he tried to clamp down on his thoughts, to keep them in his _own_ damn head as the next crack of the whip landed.

“Tony?”

It was Steve’s voice. But not Steve –- Rogers. The omega was facing him -– studying him, his eyebrows knit.

Tony wanted so badly to close his eyes and shut out the world for just a few moments, to give himself time to reset. But of course he couldn’t. He’d just wind up back in that room, his panic bleeding into Steve’s mind, undermining everything.

And now even Rogers, who had been through more than any of them, was taking notice.

 _Pull yourself together, Tony._ He told himself and rested his forehead against the glass, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths.

“Hey," he finally said, when he trusted himself to talk without crumbling. His voice still came out high pitched. "How you holding up?”

Rogers ignored his question. “What did they do to _you_?”

“Nothing. Repeat injury.” Tony winced as he felt another blow land.

“They said you two are soulmates,” Rogers said, and a stricken look crossed his face, as though thinking of that night was agony in and of itself. “You can feel it, can’t you? What they're doing to him?”

“How do you know that?”

A dark look passed over Rogers's face. “Because on my world we had bonds too.” He pressed a hand against the glass. “Different, but–- But if it’s like mine was, you could use it to help him.”

“I can’t.”

“This is just the beginning,” the omega warned. “Rumlow’s starting in earnest now. If you can help your Steve, you need to.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Tony hissed, and he heard Steve scream.

Rogers shook his head furiously at Tony. “Rumlow’s on the clock. According to the agreement, he has less than four weeks for the conditioning. If he fails, Steve stays here. But don’t expect Rumlow to make it easy.”

Tony’s mind swam. “But if Rumlow succeeded, why are you still a part of the Collector’s menagerie?”

Rogers looked away, and for a moment the engineer thought that might be the last of their conversation. “Tivan said I was no challenge. He said that Hydra had given themselves an unfair advantage.”

Tony heard Rumlow laughing inside his head and he could practically smell the blood. “Why?”

“Because omegas bond with alphas for life," Rogers’s voice was raw and belied a wound that still festered. "Because as part of _my_ conditioning, they killed my partner.”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve lay face down on the cell’s floor, his back bare and bleeding, a strata of yellow and purple bruises forming ugly splotches beneath reddened slashes. One of his hands stretched out, fingers tangled with Tony’s.

It had been the only way to dampen the confusing web of emotions.

Or at least to keep them separate.

Tony stared at Steve, a sea of guilt and self-loathing, acutely aware of Rogers’s eyes on the both of them.

#

The next time Rumlow came for Steve, Tony steeled himself.

Because if he had to be party to what Steve went through, if he could manage to _not_ be a liability, then he was going to fight back.

And if Tony could manage to drag Steve’s mind to _him_ instead, then so much the better, he thought, shutting his eyes, and willing his conscious to be there alongside Steve’s.

If only Rumlow hadn’t picked that day to try drowning.

The first plunge beneath the cold water was the hardest. As Tony felt his lungs begin to burn with Steve -- as he watched Rumlow hold Steve’s head down beneath the surface with one hand, and grip the hands bound behind the soldier’s back with the other –- Tony almost opened his eyes wide.

 _You don’t have to do this._ Steve told him.

 _I do,_ Tony said, remembering the omega’s warning, and remembering the shame. And he sent as clear of an image to Steve as possible of the first Avenger’s meeting. It had been in the penthouse suite of the newly renovated tower, and the first time they had all been together since the battle of New York.

_That was when you offered to let me move in._

_I didn’t think you’d take me up on it,_ Tony thought ruefully, even as he felt Steve gasp before being plunged beneath the water again.

 _So you were just being polite?_ Steve’s thoughts seemed distant.

Tony struggled to keep a hold on him. _No. If I didn’t want you to move in, I wouldn’t have let you._

The memory flickered away as Rumlow jerked Steve’s head up again by the hair. “Are you listening?” He growled into the soldier's ear. Steve coughed and spluttered, but refused to answer.

_So how do I fare as a roommate?_

Rumlow’s voice grew muted and grew fuzzy as Steve was forced beneath the water again. But that angry voice hissing into Steve's ear, combined with the gasps for air, sparked memories of Tony’s own experiences, so vivid and bright that for a moment he couldn’t answer.

 _Tony?_ He felt Steve reach out. Tony felt vulnerability dripping through the bond, from which side, he wasn’t sure -– maybe both.

_I’m still here._

_Keep talking to me, Tony. Please._

#

Steve was hauled back from Rumlow's water session by the reptilian sentries. He was cold and wet, and his blond hair was still matted to the side of his head and dripping.

This time, after sealing the cage, Rumlow lingered, his appraising gaze sweeping over Tony. “You two think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Tony glowered back at him. “I've been called a genius.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rumlow said.

Tony filed away the ominous threat as he bent over Steve and watched the Hydra agent’s retreating form.

“How’s your back?” Tony asked. It looked considerably less swollen and bruised than the night before.

“Better. The serum helps with healing." Tony was envious. But Steve’s breathing was labored, and he flinched when Tony touched him.

“Just me, big guy,” the engineer murmured.

“I know. I-–“ Whatever he was going to say, Steve choked it down. “How did you do it?” Steve’s voice was soft and tired, and full of ache, a small kind of desperation that, as far as Tony could tell, he never let Rumlow see. That was wise. Give them the smell of blood, and people like Rumlow would follow it to the wound.

“Today?” Tony asked, not really knowing what to say.

“Before,” Steve clarified. “In the cave.”

Tony inched closer and gently ran his fingers through Steve’s soaked, blond hair. The other man seemed so tired, but he leaned into the touch, and when Tony shifted so that Steve could rest on his side, his head pillowed in the crook of the engineer’s crossed legs, Steve didn’t protest. Any comfort, such as it was, seemed welcome.

“You go day by day,” Tony said after some thought. “You give them as little as you can. And you find whatever you can that reminds you of home. You cling to them and you never let go.”

He felt Steve catch the hand that was running through his hair, and squeeze.  “Their mistake, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, the rest of what he wanted to say caught in his throat as he looked up and saw Rogers’s blue eyes fixed on them again.

#

Deep space travel, in Rhodey’s opinion, was a lot like being stuck on a ship. The floor seemed to hum perpetually beneath his feet, so did the ceiling and the side of the hull next to his bunk. It was also fittingly cramped on board with seven people. The ship seemed to have been designed for only three.

Rhodey had perched in the cockpit for a few minutes before realizing the error in his ways. (Quill was a terrible backseat driver, and Rocket suffered it about as well as a talking, rage filled raccoon could be expected to.) Afterward, he had lingered briefly in what passed for a commissary, but quiet, very serious Drax had taken up root there, and when the alien made it clear he didn’t want to talk, things had been awkward.

So rather than deal with their ragtag hosts, Rhodey had drifted into the bunk room, blessedly empty.

But for Barnes.

The former assassin was lounging in one of the bunks, arms crossed, looking like sleep would never come. He was studying an alien book with the aid of a translator Quill had provided, a dark scowl on his pointy features.

Rhodey settled in one of the bunks opposite him and sighed as he sunk down on sheets that felt about as comfortable as canvas weave. It wasn’t the height of luxury, but lying down without the armor on was still welcome.

“I’m not sure if the yellow nutrient slime is better or worse than what the Air Force served,” he said. Mealtime had been extraordinarily unpleasant. He wished he’d skipped it like Barnes had. “If you get hungry, you can have _all_ of my leftovers. If the talking raccoon doesn’t get to it first.”

He heard the other man’s cot shift and creak, and saw that Barnes had turned on one side to look at him with a puzzled expression.

“What?” Rhodey was galled that he actually felt self-conscious under that stare. “You don’t think it’s weird?” Maybe a man with a metal arm _wouldn’t_. But then again, he was still ten shades more normal than anyone else on the ship –- including Quill, who kept asking Rhodey questions about Earth and making horrible jokes.

Barnes flipped back over, and for several moments there was just silence between the two of them.

“The raccoon is the weirdest part,” he finally agreed.

“I know. I can’t believe it likes that yellow stuff.”

“At least the coffee is drinkable. Pretty sure the stuff they used to give us in the Army was just dirt.”

Rhodey snorted. “I didn’t know that joke was 70 years old.”

#

It was perhaps the sixth or seventh day since Tony had been brought on board that he had the dubious honors of accompanying Steve down the twisting, strange corridors again. Based on the last time they had been taken together, apprehension gnawed at Steve.

Unlike the domed terrarium, though, the cavernous room they were brought to was filled with giant tanks of water made out of glass and steel.

“The aquarium?” Tony wondered aloud.

“No, that’s several decks below,” Rumlow answered. “This is quarantine for sick specimens.”

He took them past a tank with a docile gray fish the size of a car, back toward one of the largest tanks. It was at least twice as tall as Steve, with a narrow set of steps to climb to the top. He couldn’t see anything inside it beside water.

In Steve’s preoccupation with the tanks, he hadn’t noticed the change in the air. Such was his super solider metabolism. But when Tony began to rub at his bare arms, Steve noted how chilly the room was.

“I expect you to cooperate fully,” Rumlow said, “Since a shock today would be extremely unpleasant. Up the stairs Rogers, and into the water.”

At first Steve balked, his experience with Rumlow and water the previous day being what it was. But then he heard the hammer of a pistol cocking and saw that Rumlow had it pointed at Tony’s head. “Don’t worry,” Rumlow’s gravelly voice was full of amusement. “Since you two _lovebirds_ can’t keep to yourselves, he’ll be along right afterward to keep you company. Go on.”

Steve’s feet felt leaden going up the steps, more so once he was at the top, staring down into the dark blue, calm water. Was it a trick? He half expected something to come up, seize his ankle, and drag him beneath the surface.

But no, that wasn’t the catch.

He was pushed in by one of Rumlow’s rough hands, and when he hit the water his whole body tensed up, the breath going from his body like he was being crushed. The water was freezing. Steve heard a splash and a gasp from beside him as Tony was shoved in after. Unlike Steve, who naturally ran hot, Tony’s teeth began to chatter almost immediately.

Steve kicked with his feet, one of his hands touching a ladder leading out of the tank, but Rumlow just shook his head, pointing the gun at Tony again. And before Steve could decide which risk was worse: Rumlow pulling the trigger, or Tony dying of hypothermia, the Hydra agent rolled a metal covering over the mouth of the tank, trapping them inside.

“I thought you might want a romantic bath for two as a change from the cleaning rooms,” Rumlow laughed, voice muted through the metal. “So I decided: kill two birds with one stone. Tivan wanted to see what kind of endurance you have, Cap.”

“Then let Tony out!” Steve bellowed, voice echoing off of the metal cover. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh but he does. He’s the normal, every-day man control.” Rumlow’s voice drifted father away, coming from down below. Steve banged on the covering, but it was just as impenetrable as the glass of their cell. He took a deep breath, diving down to look out through the glass. A few bubbles escaped from his mouth as his fist struck the glass, but it held too, and his efforts only seemed to make Rumlow grin more.

Steve surfaced with a gasp, nearly bumping his head on the metal covering inches above. _Please don't let it be airtight._ He thought, before attacking it again _._ He tried to force the cover by pushing his shoulder into the metal and levering off the ladder. But the ladder gave an ominous groan and Steve let go.

In the dim light filtering up through the water, the space was cast in a dim, sickly light, and Steve could only hope that it was that, and not shock and cold that was already tinging Tony’s skin blue. He swam closer to Tony, glacial water lapping around his neck.

The engineer gave him a brave grin. “So is this what it was like before indoor plumbing and water heaters?”

And despite his frustration, Steve let out a soft laugh.

“No. We had to haul the water ourselves.”

He didn't know how to say it out loud, but he admired the temperament that let Tony grin in the face of hypothermia.

_Oh, flattery. Making my cheeks burn won't help, I'm afraid._

"In all seriousness, though," Steve nodded toward the ladder, "pull as much as yourself out of the water as possible."

Tony shivered. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is cakewalk compared to the last few days.”

Tony put up more resistance, but not much, and in the end he wound up with an arm slung across the top rung, most of his bare chest out of the water. Steve held on to the bottom rung, floating beside him.

“Know any songs apropos of the occasion?” He asked, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Honestly? Pop song and hypothermia only brings one thing to mind. And if you don’t like classic rock, you’re _really_ not going to like the theme from _Titanic._ ”

“Try me?”

“Okay, amending that to: _I_ have no desire to dredge that song up from memory.” For a few moments Tony was silent. Then he sighed. “Reminds me of a Korean Spa without the sauna. Which would be lovely right about now. When we get out of here, remind me to put one in.”

Steve made a noise of agreement. “That tropical beach sounds a lot nicer right about now.”

#

It felt like hours until sentries pulled them from the water.

It was a relief. He’d managed to keep Tony talking for a long time, and gotten an earful about 60’s music in the process. But as Steve’s own limbs started freezing into numb, lifeless weights, Tony had fallen silent. Steve could still feel the man’s mind, sluggish though it was, but Tony had stopped shivering too -– a sign that his body was shutting down.

For a few moments Tony just lay on the floor, his breath coming in such shallow bursts. If his brown eyes hadn’t been blinking, or his mind cursing that he was too tired to brush the icy droplets from his lashes, Steve would have worried he’d died.

As it was, Steve could do little more than clutch the towel one of the reptiles gave him, desperately clinging to the little barrier of warmth against the cold air of the room. For as much as it had affected Steve, he was thankful that Tony was still breathing.

#

It was a sort of relief, however twisted, when Rumlow next came for Steve and left Tony in the cell.

For an encore to freezing, Rumlow opted for the polar opposite, unholstering a strange weapon. It looked like a cross between his familiar shock rod and a weapon designed to fire with a trigger.

Rumlow held it up in front of Steve’s face so that the super solider could feel the heat radiating off of it. In the cold air of the space ship, and particularly with the yesterday’s tank behind him, Steve was surprised. The warmth was actually welcome.

Of course it wasn’t that simple. And once Rumlow made his intent known -– pressing the device against the skin of Steve’s forearm -– the soldier almost asked to be taken back to the tank.

He could feel Tony in the back of his mind, and that made it easier, but no less painful as Rumlow seared the soft flesh between his fingers, or dug the weapon into the pink cuts across his back.

Steve bit his tongue and kept the screams in -- until he heard a click as Rumlow adjusted a setting. When the Hydra agent pressed it to Steve’s back again he felt his skin begin to blister. After that he screamed freely.

Rumlow made a show of taking great interest in Steve’s body’s response to the burns.

The flesh would pucker and welt under the heat, Rumlow told him, the burnt smell nauseating enough without a narrative. But the rate at which the serum repaired his body was formidable. And within the hour, Steve could see the scabbing and smooth, pink flesh on his arms.

It hurt all the worse when Rumlow reapplied the burning stick to those areas.

And through it all, Tony kept up a constant stream of chatter and images. When Steve squeezed his eyes shut, he could almost will himself away from that room and back to Tony.

 _Did the Smithsonian get anything wrong about your exhibit?_ Tony asked at one point. _I would pay money to see you go in and correct it with a sharpie._ _Not like anyone would stop you._

 _I’ll add that to my list,_ Steve thought dryly. _But only because I’m between jobs._

_You don’t go in for the being a kept man, thing?_

_For a man who’s spent so much time in my head lately, it’s like you don’t even know me._

_No. I just thought that maybe all this soulmate stuff might have its perks._

On the surface Tony seemed flippant. But deep beneath, Steve thought he detected something else.

Steve croaked, his throat raw, as Rumlow left the stick on his right palm for an obscene amount of time, burning it for the third time that day.

“Have you had enough?” Rumlow asked nonchalantly. “Are you ready to beg?”

Steve spat in his face.

Rumlow looked disappointed, and he slipped the silver ring from his hand, twisting it about with some thought before pressing the crest, two crossed bones, to the heating element till the tip glowed a fiery red.

Without any warning, without so much as another word, Rumlow pressed it into the skin just beneath Steve’s collar bone. He hissed, but Rumlow grabbed him by the throat with his free hand, and kept him still until the metal had cooled, leaving a blistered, raised brand on Steve’s skin.

“You’ll beg soon enough.” Rumlow promised. “And now you’ll always remember who wrung it out of you.”


	5. Chapter 5

“He isn’t progressing fast enough,” the Collector’s voice was cold, calculating, and a bit aloof. He stood with Rumlow in front of Steve’s cell, arms crossed and lips twisted with displeasure.

His gaze made Steve’s skin crawl.

“I still have two weeks,” Rumlow replied gruffly. “The break will be clean. I just need to make it.”

“No,” the Collector’s black eyes glittered like a beetle. “Not with this one.” He pulled a letter from his robes and handed it to Rumlow. “Your superiors agree with me.”

Rumlow snatched the paper from the alien’s slim, ivory fingers and read it, wide-eyed. “ _Strucker_ , you mean.” Contempt laced his voice. “This doesn’t make sense. Completing the bond won’t help. It would just make things easier for you.”

“Not under the right circumstances,” Tivan clucked his tongue at Rumlow’s lack if imagination. “You have your orders. Prepare him.”

For a moment Rumlow lost his composure -– just for a moment –- before the careful, cruel indifference slipped back into place.

But Steve had seen it, and if it bothered _Rumlow_ , then Steve worried what he would think of these new marching orders.

#

The room was small and windowless –- though as the room Steve had woken up in had proved, that could be deceiving. It was spartan, with only a few items: a drain at the center of the room with suspicious rusty stains, a rectangular table with hooks near each of the legs, and a small box sitting on its shiny surface.

“Come on,” Rumlow growled. Steve’s feet stayed stubbornly in the doorway.

Something about the place conjured a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Current from the collar buzzed in his ears ominously as Rumlow leaned against the table, eyes narrowed. Unlike all the other days he’d gloated over Steve’s battered body, today Rumlow wore an irritated frown.

“The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

Steve refused to budge.

“Not that I’d mind if you killed yourself on the current.”

“Then do it,” Steve said, low and dangerous.

“I’ve got half a mind to,” Rumlow said. His thumb hovered over the band on his wrist, but he didn’t engage it. Instead he pursed his lips and stood up again. “I’ll make a deal with you,” the distaste was evident in his voice. “You sit on the table and cooperate, and I’ll make this easy for Stark.”

Steve frowned, remembering the ice bath they’d taken several days ago. It was enough to get him two steps inside the door -– just far enough for the door’s mechanical hinges to groan as the sentries outside slid it shut. There was a click as it locked.

Rumlow bent over the box, rummaging for something and the moving the box to the floor beside the table. When he straightened up again, he hekd what looked like a length of ordinary rope in his hands. “Lie down on the table.”

“What are you planning to do to Tony?” Steve asked, the air feeling cold on his prickly skin.

“What _Tivan_ has planned,” he said, raising his chin and eyebrows at the table to reinforce his order.

Steve looked from rope to table, to the stubborn set of Rumlow’s jaw. If there was the least bit of chance his cooperation would make things better for Tony, then he ought to do it, Steve decided.

That didn’t make it any easier to make the long walk over to the table. It went against every bit of Steve’s being that said he should struggle and put up a fight and never, under any circumstance, make things easy for Hydra. He laid down on the table face up, neck stiff with tension, and heard Rumlow make a noise of annoyance.

“No, face down.”

Steve flipped himself over and resisted the impulse to flinch when Rumlow took his wrist and began tying it to the table’s hook. Steve tested the resistance, finding the rope secure. He wasn’t sure what it was made of, a tough fiber like nylon, or something more mundane. But with enough force and time, Steve thought he might just be able to fray it and break it. Rumlow made a clucking sound with his tongue as he went to the next wrist, and Steve stilled.

When he moved on to Steve’s ankles, the super solider swallowed, forcing down the instinct to kick as he was spread to each of the four corners.

Once he had been secured, Steve felt Rumlow’s hands on the waist of his loose, battered uniform pants, yanking them down around his knees. The agent’s hands warm in the cold room, but Steve bucked and squirmed.

“Remember our deal,” Rumlow hissed, and Steve froze.

#

“He’s in trouble,” Rogers said, and Tony looked up from where he’d been cradling his head in his hands. He was so tired. Helping Steve was the right thing to do, but getting pulled into Steve’ thoughts, haunted and hurting, was wearing him thin. Because as much as they tried, and as good as the chatter was, Steve’s mind was frequently a dark place to be these days.

“We’re all in trouble,” Tony said matter-of-factly.

But the omega just shook his head. “It’s worse than you think.”

 #

Once he had the pants worked down, Rumlow reappeared in Steve’s line of sight, hands diving back into the box, this time coming out with a pair of latex gloves and a nondescript bottle of clear liquid.

And though what he’d seen with the omega had primed Steve with certain expectations, he wasn’t prepared for the implication that those objects held. His mouth went dry as he looked up into Rumlow’s cold, brown eyes.

His _loving_ captor had always taken such satisfaction in his abuse that Steve was actually surprised to find a blank slate on the hawkish face. The Collector and Strucker had ordered this, he realized, remembering the brief falter in Rumlow’s façade that morning.

_It’s a tool_ , he told himself. _Just a means to an end_.

But the knowledge didn’t make it any easier to hold himself still as Rumlow slid the gloves on and began slicking up his fingers.

“Not what you signed up for when you joined Hydra, was it?”

Rumlow met Steve’s gaze, surprising the solider, as the agent didn’t seem to be relishing the task. He didn’t answer, though, just flanked Steve. A long, labored pause kept Steve suspended on a thread, waiting for the feeling of being violated, his hands clenched tightly into fists.

When it came, the touch was cold, and though it wasn’t soft, it also wasn’t brusque or rough. But it was probing and unwanted and uncomfortable as hell. Steve pressed his forehead again the table’s smooth surface and closed his eyes.

_Just another way to break down the enemy._

The long finger probed deeper, a mechanical intrusion, jabbing and stretching him. And a second joined in, too soon, the latex dragging against Steve roughly. But knowing what he did, Steve was sure that Rumlow was going through the motions, doing just enough.

Was Rumlow going to be the one to -–

_To what?_

Steve clamped down on the thought, horrified as he felt Tony’s mind brushing against his own. He didn’t want Tony to see this, or even know, damn it.

“I think I’d rather go back to the hot iron,” Steve said, cheek pressed to the table, thinking about that torture instead of this one to keep his thoughts, and Tony by extension, elsewhere. “This is all so strangely accommodating of you.”

For several moments Rumlow was quiet. Then he let out a short humorless laugh. “It won’t work if it’s _too_ traumatic _._ Tivan wants the bond complete, and that won’t happen until it’s _consummated._ If it happens to have other effects like Strucker thinks it will, then so much the better for me.”

Steve felt his blood freeze. _Oh no. No._

But even as he thought it, he heard the locks on the door clicking, sliding open. He heard the shuffle of a sentry’s scaled feet across the metal floor, and soft, smaller feet padding behind them.

“Please tell me you’re some sort of medical doctor too in this backwards universe,” Tony’s voice had the veneer of his usual jocular self, but Steve could feel deep unease writhing behind it.

The pressure from the latex slid from Steve, and he heard a snap as the gloves were pulled off.

“Bring him over here, and hold him in position. Keep him still,” Rumlow’s voice was gruff, entirely unamused, as he circled around to Steve’s front. He twisted something beneath the table, loosening whatever held the rings that Steve’s wrists were tied to. It enabled Rumlow to slide them backward along a track, forcing Steve’s wrists toward his ankles, till he was forced to raise his hips.

Rumlow clamped the hooks in place and tousled Steve’s blond hair with a large calloused palm. “A promise is a promise,” he said, and producing a syringe from his pocket. The contents looked familiar -– like the light blue compound he’d been given for sample collection.

Steve strained against the ropes. “A promise that apparently meant nothing.”

“On the contrary,” Rumlow said, as the sentry dragged an unwilling Tony by the collar into Steve’s eye line and clamped its brawny claws on the engineer’s shoulders, bending him so that his neck was exposed. “This will make things very easy for him.” He stuck Tony and depressed the plunger.

Almost immediately, Tony’s muscle went slack. Instead of holding him still, the sentry looked like it had to physically hold him _up_. His eyes went wide too, the pupils dilating as he broke out into a sweat.

“Tony?” Steve didn’t need to ask if Tony was okay. He could feel the fire and delirium racing through the engineer as his body equilibrated to the drug.

“In a way,” Rumlow said, “I may have made this easier for you too. Come on,” he said to the sentry, who let go, leaving Tony standing, wobbly, but under his own control. “Let’s leave the happy couple.”

#

Tony’s breath came heavy through his nose. Steve watched the way his fingers curled, trembling, and the way his brown eyes blinked, slow, the too-big pupils eerie and wrong.

If he could just break the ropes –- Steve flexed his wrists, only to feel Tony’s hand settle on his shoulder, sliding up his neck in an intimate gesture that made the short blond hair there bristle. Then the fingers stroked downward, running over the sensitive brand, still pink and healing near Steve’s collar bone.

“Steve,” Tony said, his voice strangled. “I’m not in control.”

His hand let go. _Otherwise I wouldn’t be touching you, not like this._

And then his hands were back, running over Steve’s chin, tilting his head up, even though the ropes made the angle painful. The fingers drew back again, and Steve was sure the look of pure agony on Tony’s face was mirrored on his own. _Oh God, it shouldn’t be like this._

Steve could hear the bump of Tony’s heartbeat getting quicker, erratic.

“It’s okay.” Steve forced his voice to be low and calm. “Do what you have to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve swallowed deep, and he waited until the fingers crept back to his skin, tracing the sharp bones in his cheeks. It would sound more convincing out loud. “I’ll be fine.” _At least it wasn't Rumlow._

Tony knelt in front of him, his fingers curling around Steve’s fist, and he moved in closer, lips parted, a hungry look in those eyes. But before Tony could kiss him, Steve turned his head to the side.

“Just not that,” he asked, as every fiber of his physical body began to betray him. This close, his sense of smell was flooded by Tony’s scent. He wasn’t even the one who had been drugged and he was already painfully hard. With the drug in his system, Steve could only imagine how much worse it was for Tony.

“I thought --”

Steve closed his eyes, keeping his head carefully angled away. His last memories of a kiss were of Peggy, just before he’d jumped on the plane, and the memory was still raw and open. He couldn't bear to have it salted with _this_. He knew Tony would be able to see it once his fingers left Steve’s skin. He’d also be able to feel all the guilt and shame coursing through Steve as his body screamed for Tony.

When Tony did draw back, Steve didn’t get a tangible string of words from the engineer, so much as a blurred mix of emotions, and a primal desire strangling a sane mind that -- buried deep, was horrified and struggling to break free.

_Just make it quick. Please._ Steve asked.

He braced himself as much as he could as Tony moved into position.

There was no magical signal as Tony slipped inside of him. On the surface, nothing seemed to change. Steve could feel his body responding to Tony though, becoming comfortable -- the way he angled himself upward to meet Tony’s thrusts, the way he shivered with pleasure when Tony’s fingers ran gingerly along his skin, steering clear of the bruises and burns, and the way that Tony rolled his hips, soft and gentle like a lover rather than an animal.

Tony hit something deep inside Steve that drew a gasp -- a good one -- once, then again and again, till Steve’s breathing became rough and he came.

Tony let out a grunt, and he didn’t last much longer, finishing with short erratic thrusts.

He didn’t waste time withdrawing. At first, Steve thought that nothing had changed, that perhaps Rumlow had been playing more tricks. But as Tony began tugging at the knotted rope to free Steve, the soldier realized something _was_ different.

He could sense Tony still, but the tangle of their minds that had been there before was gone -- regardless of whether or not they were touching. It was like a television had been muted.

“Is it quiet for you too?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded.

#

"So what have you and Quill been plotting?" Rocket asked, prying open a crate in the hold and crawling into the straw-like packing. He resurfaced with a scowl, a pair of velvety purple pants in hand. "Where were they planning to sell all this junk, anyway?"

"A rescue mission," Rhodey said, using the gauntlets to open another. Inside he found rubber, spidery shaped objects. He decided he didn't want to know what they were used for and shut it back up again.

"An admirable task," Drax was likewise digging through a crate.

"Or stupid," Rocket climbed out and started picking straw out of his fur. "You've got that blinky thing" he meant Bruce's translocator, tucked safely in Rhodey's pocket, "pointing us at Rigel Nine, but you don't even know what's there."

"Hopefully my friends."

"So basically, we’re going to get roped into helping you and the broody guy storm the castle without even knowing what we're up against?"

"If it comes to that. Quill said he'd call in some favors -- see if he could get some information."

Rocket wrinkled his snout. "Earther nepotism. He wouldn't go out of his way for most aliens. But for you he's willing to take us out into the middle of nowhere."

“No one’s _forcing_ you to come,” Rhodey pointed out.

“Shows what you know,” Rocket glared at him and stalked away, tail twitching.

What was that supposed to mean? Rhodey wondered. 

"Perhaps we should resume again tomorrow.” Drax suggested.

“Yeah,” Rhodey agreed, looking forward to his bed.

But when the door to the cabin he shared with Barnes opened, he heard moaning and whimpering, and the metal arm glimmered in the dim light as he thrashed in his sleep.

“Barnes--?” His hand went to the man’s shoulder. “Bucky--?”

The man’s eyes opened and he let out a shuddering breath.

“You okay, man?”

Barnes ran his flesh hand over his eyes. “Fine.”

Rhodey lingered a few moments before realizing that the man wasn’t going to give him more than that. His presence was clearly being tolerated rather than welcomed.

“I need to find Quill,” he lied. “See if his sources came through. But if you need anything--“

Barnes didn’t look up at him.

So Rhodey left.

Quill, he decided, would be better company anyway.

#

The sessions were getting old. Steve knew it. Rumlow knew it. It wasn’t that Steve was any more willing to give in to Rumlow, to let him twist his hands around Steve’s mind and reshape him. It was that they both now knew what the Collector and Strucker were willing to do.

And it seemed neither of them cared for it.

Rumlow had taken Tony away shortly after the Collector had come to see them, seeming genuinely pleased as he studied the two Avengers. Then they’d left Steve locked in the room all night.

He'd opted to sleep on the floor, as far away from the table as possible.

The quiet was eerie, after having Tony running through his mind for days. But when he tried to quest out toward the other man, all he got was silence.

Rumlow had returned the next morning. And his foul mood seeped into the room, boding ill for Steve. Today he was ostensibly testing the strength of Steve’s bones.

His hands were bound to a pole behind his back, one leg in a vice that Rumlow was gradually tightening. It sent a horrible stabbing, tearing sensations down his shin, and Steve grit his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for the crack of breaking bone.

He missed having Tony with him.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asked, forcing the longing down and focusing everything on keeping his voice steady.

Rumlow just grunted.

“Not as much fun when Strucker makes the call?” Steve hissed as Rumlow twisted the vice tighter.

“What happens if you fail?” Steve let a lopsided grin twitch across his face. “What does Hydra do to _you?”_

That earned Steve a kick to the stomach. He gasped, doubling up as much as the restraints would allow. But once he’d gotten enough air back into his lungs, he pressed Rumlow. “Is that why you started with the omega? Because you knew he’d be easy to break?”

Never, in the close to two weeks that Steve had been on board ship, had he seen Rumlow draw his sidearm in anger. But whatever he had done, it had set something off. He heard the click of the safety, and felt the muzzle pressed into the soft skin behind his chin, forcing him to swallow against the gunmetal.

“Are you going to kill your second Captain America in this universe?” He asked, goading, because he’d never seen Rumlow so on edge. “Tivan will be _so_ happy to find out. And Strucker --”

Rumlow backhanded him with the grip of the gun, then twisted the vice till he heard the bone in Steve’s leg shatter.

And he couldn’t help it, he screamed for the bastard. But a vicious piece of Steve – the bit that smelled a man under duress -- wasn’t cowed in the least.

“Not a clean break at all,” He rasped, forcing a dry chuckle from his chest.

“You were the one who made it messy,” Rumlow replied, before slipping from the room.

#

Rogers was seated with his broad back to Tony. It was as if he knew.

Maybe he did.

It was a mercy that whatever the Collector and Rumlow had done to the two of them, it had settled their minds. If Tony had had to contend with intruding on Steve’s thoughts on top of everything else -- he ran his hands through his short black hair and let out a shudder of a breath.

Rogers turned his head, cheek pressed to the glass, and eyes downcast. “The Tony I knew used to do that all the time.”

Even though he knew on some level that Rogers was _not_ Steve, the wistfulness in the soft voice -- so like Steve’s -- was a balm on Tony’s tortured thoughts. Thinking about anything else was better than where his mind was.

“Were you and he close?”

The ghost of a smile -- the closest the omega had ever shown of one, anyway, played on Rogers’s lips. “We were friends. He was the only other omega on the Avengers lineup. We looked out for one another.”

“What _is_ an omega?” Tony asked. Up until now, it had only ever been used in connotations of weakness. Up until now, Rogers hadn’t seemed very interested in just talking. But something had changed after Rumlow’s crack.

Rogers turned away, and for a moment Tony thought he might be shutting down again, going back to that doe-eyed, spooked persona. “You have animals on your earth that go into heat?” he asked.

“Yeah…” Tony said, mind already racing ahead to all the implications.

“Being an omega means you get saddled with that: a period of about a week several times a year where you go crazy with hormones.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad,” Tony said carefully. “I’m pretty sure that decribes most of my teenage years.”

This time Rogers _did_ smile. “Tony used to beg me to lock him in at night so that he wouldn’t go searching for an alpha.”

“Alpha?”

“The only _real_ cure for heat. Unfortunately, they’re rare and genetically predisposed to possessiveness. Their pheromones had a calming effect. Not a good combination for a relationship when you’re desperate for anything to take the edge off.”

Tony was pretty sure _calming_ was a euphemism. “So what did you do?”

Rogers got that sad, distant look in his eyes again. “I got lucky. I found the perfect one, through work, of all places. They killed him when they worked out what the relationship was." His eyes screwed shut. “And I don’t think he liked having to kill himself. But when I went into heat, Strucker saw an opportunity to use him -- Strucker thought the bond might transfer. I don’t think he liked that much either. I guess I'm lucky it didn't.”

_He--?_

Tony tensed as he heard a door clang open and work boots thumping along the metal floor.

Rumlow paused, glancing at Rogers. And the broken, longing look that flitted across the omega’s face told Tony everything. _A twisted, mirror version of a lover. So that’s why he seemed to know so much._

He could read Rumlow like a book.

But he hadn’t come for Rogers. The agent’s eyes fixed on Tony, and his sidearm was in hand as he pressed his palm to the opening mechanism. “Time to go have some fun,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.


	6. Chapter 6

“We have a visual on the Collector’s ship,” Rocket’s voice was tinny over the speaker, waking Bucky from fitful sleep. He sat up in the bunk, blinking and disguising a yawn behind one hand.

Rhodes was up and awake in an instant, hand pressed to the bunk’s comm system. “What’s it look like?”

Even though Quill’s sources had told them _who_ was most likely to be at the coordinates, and what kind of business the alien was in, they had been vague on what kind of power he had at his disposal. Bucky was under the strong impression that few had tried anything but diplomatic tactics when it came to dealing with Taneleer Tivan. 

“Like you chose to take on the wrong guy. The thing is a flying fortress.”

“There’s a protocol being broadcast on one of the common frequencies,” Gamora added. “Instructions for visitors on docking.”

Rhodes digested that for a moment. “Still up for paying this guy a visit?”

“If it wasn’t for Quill, you’d be getting kicked to the curb,” Rocket groused.

Rhodes frowned at Bucky, his thumb momentarily disengaging the comm. “You ready for this?”

Bucky nodded. And the scratchy comm crackled to life once more under Rhodes’s thumb . “Then we’re going to run a Trojan horse operation. Me and Quill go in to make a deal, see what the place looks like and check the security detail. Barnes and Gamora sneak on board and follow the signal while Drax keeps an eye on the ship.”

“Your plan is suspiciously lacking a few people,” Rocket pointed out.

“Yeah…you and Groot are the bait.”

Rocket let out a noise of disgust. “Well, as long as I get to blow something up before this is all over, I’ll be happy.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Rhodes let comm go silent again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of all the teams to run an extraction with…I get to lead a bunch of pirates with a pyromaniac raccoon.”

“And me.” The assassin with glitched conditioning. Under an objective eye, they really were a hopeless team.

Rhodes shook his head. “So help me, but I think you’re the most dependable person I have on this mission…So please don’t flip out and try to kill Cap when you see him,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Bucky nodded and began checking his guns.

Rhodes gave a long-suffering sigh and put on his helmet. “Let’s go wake up the others.”

#

Quill strode next to him, his red coat swirling noiselessly behind him compared to the heavy footfalls of Rhodey’s armor. A strange, lizardlike creature had come to meet them, and when Quill had pulled out his translator to let it know what they wanted, it indicated that they should follow.

The hallways were strange, like the intestines of a living thing rather than structured. While Quill seemed blissful oblivious, the whole place left Rhodey feeling unsettled.

“You think you could navigate back to the ship without help?” he asked Quill quietly. Rhodey had thought he had a loose sort of idea of where they had gone, but every now and again it seemed they doubled back on themselves, like they were headed in the wrong direction.

“Been watching other things,” Quill said in English, eyes sweeping across the roof in such a way that it brought Rhodey’s attention to a blinking light, some sort of monitor or camera, mounted above a doorway. “Not many.”

If their guide was concerned about what they were discussing privately, it gave no indication. Rhodey followed the lizard man through the doorway, silently thankful for that.

They began to pass glass boxes, some empty, but others filled with alien things. Some of the things on display made his head hurt trying to comprehend what horrible twist of biology had evolved a niche for milky-eyed, flattened creatures, their slimy tongues extended, tasting the air. Rhodey jumped when one moved. He kept walking past it, albeit a bit faster.

They came to a space among the cages with a desk and a man in red robes. His deep set eyes regarded Quill and Rhodey before he set down the pen he had been writing with and extended his hands in greeting.

“I trust you were able to view a bit of the exhibits on your way in,” he said. “What do you think of my collection?”

“It’s extensive,” Rhodey said before Quill could open his mouth to put his foot in it.

“Yes, a point I pride myself on. But what brings you here?”

“A sale,” Quill said.

“We have something we heard you’d be interested in,” Rhodey clarified.

“It seems to be absent.”

“It’s on our ship,” Quill add hastily. “If the offers good, we’ll bring it on board.”

Tivan’s white eyebrows rose, and he gestured in such a way as to indicate that Quill ought to keep talking. “What have you brought?”

“A talking raccoon, and a tree-man,” Quill placed his hands on his hips confidently.

The Collector looked thoughtful. “And what do you want for the specimens?”

Quill looked sideways at Rhodey. “Uh…1000 credits a head.”

Tivan stroked his chin while he considered the offer. “That’s quite a high price for goods sight unseen.”

“Are you willing to pay?” Quill asked, and Rhodey wished he had done the negotiating instead.

“Oh, of course,” and two hulking lizardmen, much larger than their first escort, entered from the other side of the room with guns drawn. “If we cannot come to better terms, that is.”

#

“You said this guy made fair deals,” Rhodey hissed, marching back to the ship at the muzzle-end of a complicated weapon -- but based on the design he was fairly certain it was nothing more than a gun. A gun that hurled projectiles with the power of something other than gunpowder, sure, but it was basically a ballistic weapon.

“That’s what they said!” Quill’s voice was shrill.

Rhodey sighed deeply as they crossed back into the docking area. “Okay, time for plan B, then.”

“Plan B?” Quill’s eyes bugged wide.

“Yeah, you might want to duck,” the gattling gun on his back swiveled as Rhodey brought it online. Their escorts reacted in seconds, and he heard the fire from their weapons as it struck him in the back -- but the armor was tough, and he was only staggered, not ripped apart.

Rhodey fired up his boots and took a sharp turn down one of the side halls, trying to get space between him and the lizards. One of them gave chase, the other kept his gun trained on Quill.

Rhodey opened up his helmet’s line back to the ship, “This is Rhodes. Cover’s been blown.”

“Well _there’s_ a surprise,” Rocket snorted.

Rhodey ignored him. “Barnes and Gamora, proceed with the plan. There’s minimal surveillance. The rest of you, fall into distract and divert mode.”

Quill let out a tiny strangled noise over the line.

“Also, Star Lord could use some help.”

#

Steve stood as still as possible as Rumlow forced Tony down on his knees in front of him. Rumlow’s gun pressed into the base of the engineer’s skull, and when Tony strained his eyes up to look at Steve, he saw they were wide and worried. For perhaps the first time since Steve had met the man, Tony seemed unsure. And even though what had passed between the two of them was still fresh and raw, Steve shoved the feelings down, reaching out to the mind that still lingered on the periphery of his own, opening himself freely.

 _I pushed him too hard._ Steve warned.

_There’s more to this than you know._

Rumlow’s eyes fixed on Steve. “One way or another, I’ll get it from you. Beg. Ask me to spare his life.”

“You wouldn’t--"

Rumlow smiled. “Killing the mate worked on the omega. Time to see if we can replicate the results.”

“Tivan--“

“Can find himself another damn pair of hopeless romantics unless you get busy.”

Steve felt his mouth go dry. “Okay.” A deep breath. “You can do anything you want to me,” the words came out stilted, “just don’t hurt him.”

“How far would you go to keep me from pulling the trigger?”

Steve blinked and looked deep into Tony’s eyes. He could see the self-loathing there. He could feel the turmoil of Tony’s mind, and sense that Tony didn’t think he was worth that kind of deal.

But Steve thought of Tony shivering in the tank beside him, waxing nostalgic about music Howard had hated. Steve remembered the tender brush of his fingers though his hair, and Tony saying, “you go day by day.” And he remembered the sheer force of will Tony had had, restraining himself for as long as possible.

“I’d do anything.” This time there was nothing wooden or mechanical in his words. “Please, Brock, let him go.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“I’m _begging_ you,” The phrase burned in Steve’s throat, as scalding as any branding iron. “I'm yours. Just let him go.”

“Get on your knees.”

Both Tony and Steve tensed at the order. Steve sank, albeit slowly, his balance awkward with his arms tied as they were.

“Open.”

Steve obeyed, and tasted the tang of metal as Rumlow shoved the shock rod into his mouth like a bit.

“Down,” Rumlow ordered, pressing at the back of Steve’s head, till the rod clinked against the floor. One of Rumlow’s boots came down on his neck, heavy and solid and threatening. “I wonder if we broke those teeth, whether you’d be able to heal from _that_.”

He heard Tony make a small noise, felt the man moving against his mind, nervous and antsy.

But as Rumlow's heel dug into the back of his neck, an alarm began blaring and the walls of the ship rattled violently. Steve stole a glance up at the Hydra agent and saw surprise and frustration.

 _Could be good for us?_ Steve asked silently.

Tony raised his eyebrows. _I guess we’ll see._

#

Say one thing for Rhodey, his power of observation wasn’t wrong. Fighting their way back through the ship was a nightmare. The halls compressed on them, feeling tight. He was with Rocket and Groot, and that was fortunate because at one point the treelike man had to _hold_ the ceiling up, his wooden body creaking as he took one slow step after another, sheltering Rocket and Rhodey from the collapsing hall around them.

Once they reached a section that was more stable, Rhodey thought they were in for a break -- but only a few minutes later and he was bewildered to lead their trio through a door and catch Groot at the far end of the hallway in _front_ of him. If the laws of physics were optional in this place, it explained why the Collector's security was so lax.

“Exactly what kind of guy do you have us dealing with?” Rocket asked, his usual vehement vitriol subdued.

“I am Groot?” the tree man agreed.

“I’ll get back to you one that,” Rhodey said, priming his hand canon.

#

As bad as it seemed to be for the others, Bucky and Gamora were finding the ship much more compliant. They crept down winding corridors, surreptitiously checking each door for humanoid forms before moving on as silently as possible.

“It's a zoo...” Gamora said, contempt palpable after they found the glass exhibit hall. She moved amongst the cages with a frown plastered on her face.

Bucky stared at the things under glass, his gaze sweeping the room. Under the blue lights everything appeared cold and sterile, and it left him uneasy. Feelings and memories were clawing at him, trying to work their way out from where they laid buried deep inside out.

 _I woke up under glass once._ He was certain of that, running his metal hand along one of the cages. A small deer-like animal stared back at him, frozen but for the twitch of its nostrils.

He needed to focus -- because old wound were bubbling up inside him, reminding him of the rage and the helplessness he'd felt at Hydra's hands. And those two emotions were triggering something seated even deeper in his scarred mind.

“Are you going to be okay?” Gamora asked, coming up behind him. He could see the faintest lines of concern in her reflection, hidden though it was by the tough veneer she always wore. This place was affecting her too.

Bucky blinked and looked at the deer-thing again. “Yeah.”

He had to be.

#

Rhodey limped through the door into a chamber full of blue lights -- no, it was the cages he had seen earlier on his scouting with Quill, he realized. They were in the right place. 

A trickle of blood dripped into one of his eyes -- the encounter with a platoon of scaly guards had been bad. Rocket’s fur was puffed out, and the raccoon’s small black eyes swept the room feverishly, feral and coursing with adrenaline. Groot was still moving, but he was limping where a plasma weapon had searing one of his legs.

Thank God it hadn’t been worse. If the big guy went down, they weren’t going to be able to move him. Rocket had said that wouldn’t be an issue. Rhodey was too busy to ask just why that was. And he really didn’t want to have to find out what the answer was.

As they moved among the cages, Rhodey’s heart leapt, seeing a humanoid form huddled in the corner of one. And as he moved closer, he was certain he knew that close-cropped blond hair cut.

“Cap?”

Steve looked up at him, frowning, which sent a lurch through Rhodey’s stomach. “Cap, it’s me. War Machine.” He flipped the faceplate up, but there was still no recognition in his face. “James Rhodes? Do you know what they’ve done with Tony?”

The crumpled look on Steve’s face was shocking. “They took him,” he said.

“Can you get him out?” Rhodey asked Groot.

The tree man nodded, first trying to break the glass. When it proved resistant, he placed his large, bark covered hands on the edges. Little tendrils of vine and wood extending through the tiny gaps between glass and cage frame, widening and twisting, putting stress on the most vulnerable parts of the cell. As the glass cracked and fractured under Groot’s hands, Rhodey called their find in, hailing Barnes’s frequency as well as the ship, where Quill and Drax waited.

“I’ve got Cap,” he said, as Groot bent inside the cell, scooping the Captain up. “We just need to find Tony.”

“There’s another,” Steve’s voice was soft and cryptic. And Rhodey wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Heading back to the ship,” Rhodey broadcast on the comm. “Keep an eye out for more friendlies…or enemies.”

#

As Gamora unlocked the door -- because the tracing signal from the device was pointing through it, and because there were always fun things behind locked doors, she claimed -- Bucky held vigil.

Bucky was ashamed, but he was also relieved that he hadn’t been the one to find Steve. After all they had been through in New York, after the confusion that had lead him to Avengers tower, he wasn’t sure just _how_ he would respond when he saw his old friend again.

In the space of a few seconds, Bucky heard the lock give way, the creak of the door opening, and the discharge of two energy weapons. The first hit Gamora in the chest, and she let out a haggard sound that wasn’t quite a scream. Her instincts and quick reflexes allowed her to get a shot off too -- the second discharge -- and Bucky heard a strangled noise of pain from inside the room.

Bucky edged around the door’s frame with gun ready.

And found Rumlow sunk against the wall, a burn on the shoulder of his gun arm that left it lying useless in his lap. He was groping for his weapon with his other arm, but it was too far away for him to reach without moving, and he was ashen and pale.

Even under duress Gamora’s aim had been true. So had her instincts to break into the room because Tony was there, tied and kneeling on the floor, next to --

Something disengaged in Bucky’s mind at seeing Steve, bloodied and bruised, cuffed and shoulders hunched. Bucky froze up, every muscle in his body screaming and fighting as his metal arm moved, pointing his weapon from Rumlow to Steve.

“Barnes what the hell are you doing?” Gamora hissed at him, clutching her chest.

“He was my mission.”

“Him?” She seemed confused. “Rocket and Rhodes said they already secured --”

“I don’t know what they found. But I had orders. I had orders and I _failed_.”

Steve blinked up at him, tired and weary, and Bucky faltered. _Was it Steve?_ His memories were so hard to call up, but he was sure his best friend had always been vibrant, so unwilling to back down from a fight. Here he saw resigned quietness and a bitterness he’d never known behind those blue eyes.

“But you _are_ him.” He said, brows furrowed.

And Stark spoke up. “Maybe they’re manipulating you again.”

“ _Tony,”_ Steve warned.

Bucky hesitated. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Then maybe you should wait,” Tony’s voice was a soothing purr, “and see which of them is actually Cap.”

In his corner, Rumlow laughed, and then sputtered, choking on his own blood. “You think you can get back to your ship?” He winced, even as he chuckled again. “You’ll never make it out of here. Tivan won’t allow it.”

“Then we’ll go through him,” Gamora growled as she struggled upright and snatched the gun out of Bucky’s frozen hand. “Get them up,” she told him, and waved to the door as she wielded both guns. “Let’s go.”

#

They made their way back through the ship, sentries, rogue hallways, and all. The end was in sight as they made it to the docking bay. But in what Steve could only assume was the height of playing with them, The Collector materialized, scant feet between them and the ship.

It was either very bold, or meant to make a statement.

The latter, no doubt, as Steve found his muscle seizing up, a horrible feeling so akin to being frozen into a block of ice again that for a moment panic swept over him. His eyes strayed over to Rogers, and he found the same abject horror written plain as day on the omega's face.

“I’m so glad we could go through this little exercise,” the Collector said, and as he rounded the room looking at each of his prisoners, Steve saw that Quill and Drax were similarly immobilized on the ship’s ramp. Tivan practically floated, examining each of them in turn, and paying particular interest to Groot. “So much to add to the collection.” He stopped in front of Rhodes and looked him up and down. “Of course, there’s the airlock for the rest.”

Down the hall, Rumlow came limping, his right arm hanging useless and heavy, his left hand clutching at his side.

“You did a poor job containing the situation,” the Collector said, and for the first time since Steve had laid eyes on the alien, the indifference was traded for disappoitment. “If it weren’t for me, they would have gotten away.”

“My mistake. I’ll see them back to their cages.”

“Do that. Then contact Strucker. I think we should all discuss finding a third Captain to start over fresh. And I’d like to have words with him regarding the help he's supplied.”

Rumlow took a deep breath, his shoulders rising, head bent, and the anger on him palpable. And then he moved -- quicker than Steve would have expected for the injury he had. It must have been agonizing. But from what he had seen of the Collector’s true power, there was likely no other way for him to get the upper hand. It had to be surprise.

Rumlow was ruthlessly efficient, striking the alien in one smooth move with the stun rod. The voltage he used was so high that Steve saw a flash as the current arced.  The Collector convulsed once before his knees gave out, and Steve felt the chill of his power thawing.

“Come on!” Quill called from the hatch.

His teammates lost no time in scrambling. But Steve lingered, staring at Rumlow. Like Steve, he was barely standing, bent, dripping blood, and face snowy white. His brown eyes flickered from Steve to Rogers.

It was hard to comprehend that the man who had been responsible for so much pain could now be helping them. Steve felt a mix of relief, but also anger. He didn’t want to owe the man anything.

Steve felt Tony nudging at his mind, urging him to just turn around and leave.

“This isn’t over,” Rumlow promised. “This escape means nothing. In the end you’ll _yield._ ”

The Hydra catechism would have been more traditional, and something in the way Rumlow said the word made Steve pause. Then he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Rhodes had at least five weapons pointed at Rumlow. Now free of the Collector’s powers, the engines on the Guardian's ship roared to life and its guns trained on the Hydra agent.

Even knowing that, it was hard for Steve to just turn his back on Rumlow and walk away.

“If you’re smart,” Steve called over his shoulder, “then it _will be_ the end.”


	7. Chapter 7

“We should have blown that hell-hole up,” Rocket groused from one of the pilot’s chairs, his furry chin resting on his paws as he stared beyond the glass at the emptiness of deep space. Inside the cabin it was warm by virtue of how many bodies were crammed into the tight space for their little powwow.

“There were others like us on there,” Rogers said, his voice muted as he rubbed at his neck, freed from the collar thanks to Rocket’s handiwork. He seemed on edge, and at the same time distant, like a piece of himself had been left behind on that ship. Knowing his history with Rumlow now, Tony supposed that, in a sad awful way, maybe it had. _Or at least a distant facsimile of another life._

“If we could have done more, we would have,” Rhodey said. “Getting away with the three of you was a miracle.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Rocket chimed in.

“Hey, we helped you get your friend back,” Rhodey reminded him. "But thank you." He nodded at the self-styled Guardians before pulling a small, cigar shaped device out and looking at Tony. “Ready to head home?”

“Wait--" Steve looked troubled, and his eyes fell on Rogers. “You heard him back there, just like I did. If this isn’t over -- if Hydra is going to come after us again, then we’re stronger together.” He turned to Rhodey. “Can that thing bring him with us?”

Rhodey frowned. “It’s keyed to people from our universe. But in theory, yes, if he’s in direct contact with one of us.”

“It’s up to you, then,” Steve told the omega.

Rogers looked between them all, pondering this new option. Then he nodded. “If I can't get back to my world, I’m with you.”

In the end, Tony and Rhodey decided it would be best if, due to their similarities, Steve was the one to hold on to Rogers. Identical hands clasped one another firmly, which was a sight to behold. And if Tony was honest with himself, not an unpleasant one, though he quickly put the thought from his mind. There was too much there he hadn't sorted through.

Seeing the way that Steve arched an eyebrow at him didn't help either. The link between them was closed, but the super soldier must have been aware, on some level, that Tony's thoughts were on him.

“Last chance to say your goodbyes,” Rhodey warned.

“Good riddance,” Rocket said, but he coupled it with a salute.

“Go Earth,” Quill smiled.

“I am Groot,” said Groot, inclining his head toward Rogers in particular.

Drax and Gamora just stoically nodded their heads.

“Okay,” Rhodey said. “Here goes nothing.”

Tony felt Steve’s mind brush against his own, the barrier between them thinning as Rhodey pressed the button.

There was a few seconds of delay, and the device flashed three times before Tony felt himself being pulled through space, like taking g-forces in a jet or the Iron Man suit. It was that same strange sensation he had felt being hurled into another universe the first time.

Tony woke up with a pounding sensation in his head, amidst the overturned contents of a garbage bin. He brushed off a crumpled wrapper, claiming to be "NYC's best hotdog," and struggled to his feet, vision blurry. Steve he saw, had come to in a very similar predicament, and was helping up his twin. Rhodey and Bucky were at the mouth of the alley, transfixed by something.

As Tony stumbled over to see what it was, he felt a hollow pit in the depth of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. He was certain of that.

And when he joined Bucky and Rhodey, he realized why. The Hydra banner was everywhere, flying where a US flag should have been and imprinted on the side of a dirigible floating low over the city.

They were definitely in the wrong universe.

 #

Bucky’s lock picking was put to good use. Steve couldn’t remember him doing it before, but in 70 odd years, he had clearly picked up a few skills.

The warehouse they found to hide in was labyrinthine. Upstairs it was a maze of deserted offices with yellowed calendars and ancient memos still stuck into the wall with pushpins. The downstairs was composed of several large rooms stacked to the ceiling with dust covered crates.

They quickly determined that, of the four military men, Rhodey had the most medical experience among them -- and the most recent as well. So he set to work checking over the two Steves and Tony. Out of familiarity, Steve assumed, Tony went first. But it might have also been a chance for him to prepare Rhodey as much as anything else.

When it came time for Steve’s examination, he didn’t ask any especially pointed questions or delve too deeply into the lingering superficial marks that Rumlow had left. Rhodey's main concern was the break in Steve’s leg, but as far as either of them could tell, it was knitting together like it was supposed to. He told Steve to avoid putting weight on it, but they both knew the chances of that actually happening was almost zero. Since Zola could track the two Steves, they were going to have to be vigilant.

Steve passed Tony on the way out, hovering near the door. But when Steve quested out toward the engineer, he only found silence on the other end of the bond. He want to ask Tony why, but the question stuck in his throat as Tony refused to meet his eyes.

And things continued like that between them.

The bond between him and Tony was still very much there, Steve was certain of that. It felt like a thread between them, and when he focused on it, Steve could sense when Tony was awake or asleep, but little more.

The bond’s continued existence was certainly odd. Now that they were in a different universe, he was surprised it hadn’t disappeared. But maybe this world had soulmates as well? Or, Steve thought darkly, perhaps just visiting a universe where soulmates were literal was enough to change a person permanently.

Tony didn’t seem interested in testing the ramifications yet. For all purposes, he seemed intent on ignoring it all together. The link stayed resolutely dead through scrounged meals of mushy canned green beans and something that might have been soup once upon a time. Through a night of thunder and tornado sirens, where they all huddled together in a small room on the ground floor, Tony said fewer than a dozen words to him. And whenever they crossed paths in the sole room that had running water, Tony would quickly excuse himself.

Ostensibly, he was busy. He and Rhodey were cautiously poking at the Banner’s translocator, trying to determine why it had brought them here instead of home. And when they weren’t working on that, they were using cannibalized parts of the War Machine armor to scan for spatial anomalies -- anything that could warn them a bridge between universes had opened.

 _If they can find and pluck you from a universe once, they can do it again._ Rhodey warned him.

The prognosis on the translocator was grim so far. As far as they could tell, it was powered by gamma radiation. With Bruce, they had a plentiful supply: enough that they had easily had enough power for the two jumps. Without him, they were stuck.

Combing the newspapers Bucky brought back fell on Steve’s shoulders. Research wasn’t exactly his thing, but the engineers were busy trying to find an alternative way to power the translocator, and since he wasn’t supposed to be walking on his leg anyway, it seemed like a reasonable job for Steve.

What he gleaned -- other than that there was a distinct lack of Hulk damage on this world -- was that Hydra leaders didn’t make for benevolent overlords. Every day there was another story about a rebel outpost falling or the arrest of a counter party leader.

The world must have had an effect on his counterpart -- not that Steve could blame him after what he had suffered at Hydra’s hands. Freedom hung on his shoulder like a hand-me-down he was trying his best to grow into.

But at least it was better than Bucky. Bucky hurt the most to watch. After Steve’s worry and heartache in the aftermath of SHIELD’s fall, Bucky seemed to prefer the solitude of hunting for things to bring back to the warehouse. It was useful to have food, but Steve was fairly certain Bucky was actively avoiding him. He’d seen and spoke with the man even less than Tony.

It was ironic, Steve thought, that he had actually felt less lonely while imprisoned on the Collector’s ship.

#

Bucky swung his wet knapsack through a bottom floor window before slipping in, feet first, behind it. He moved as quietly as possible, though that was hard considering he was dripping on the concrete floor. The downpour had caught him by surprise, and he was looking forward to drying off and warming up. Assuming the room they had taken up residence in hadn’t sprung a leak like the this wing of the building had. He could hear water dripping through a crack, a counterpoint to the rattling on the tin roof.

In the wet weather, the warehouse smelled like dust and moldy rot. Bucky checked the bindings on his mask, just to make sure it wouldn't slip and give him a lungful of spores, before taking the stairs, two at a time.

At the top of the stairwell he took a right, down a windowless, narrow corridor, and knocked: one long, two short, a warning that friendlies were entering, before slipping inside.

He was greeted in the dimness by Rogers, so close they were almost nose to nose. The omega let out a held breath and holstered the gun -- the one they'd all been trading for guard duty -- and settled his back against the wall again, briefly checking the nearby baby monitor Bucky had stolen. They’d set it up in the room that had been set aside for Rhodes's partially scavenged suit and the translocator so that they’d always have eyes on the equipment.

“Is Stark still at it?” Bucky asked. The engineer had been up for nearly two days, tweaking the translocator and zapping ants into different dimensions. He’d tried a cricket, but hadn’t had enough power. The result had been an oozing, headless half left behind.

Rogers stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and nodded.

"I can take over," Bucky offered, shifting the sack on his shoulder and casting a glance at Steve and Rhodes who were huddled next to a kerosene lamp. It gave off a flickering light, casting them in a faint glow as they played with a battered set of playing cards. In the corner an old radio, crackling with static, was playing something that sounded like the musical cousin to jazz. It would actually be nice to stay -- warm as it was with them all crowded inside. But the prospect of joining the card players also put a knot in his stomach.

Rogers just shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can carry my own weight around here."

Bucky blinked. "I didn't say you couldn't." That defiant tone was so familiar, though it had been years since Steve had gotten so defensive. It would have been back in the days before the serum -- back when looking out for Steve was just a matter of punching a bully. "Just thought you might want to play."

A white lie couldn't hurt, could it?

"Whatever poker is, we don't have it where I come from."

Bucky cocked his head, on the verge of pointing out that one of them would surely teach him, when it occurred to Bucky that Rogers might want the solitude of watching the door as much as he did.

So he shrugged, resigning himself to a soggy, cold vigil elsewhere. He handed over the bag to Rogers, who peeked inside and wrinkled his nose. "I haven't depended this much on canned food since the war."

"Yeah, I didn't miss it much either."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rogers's lips. And something like actual delight lit in his dark blue eyes. "Checkers?" He pulled out a battered board and a bag of black and red chips. "I used to play all the time as a kid." His eyes flickered up and caught Bucky's.

Inexplicably, he sensed that Rogers had played against his own world's Bucky -- just like Bucky had with Steve.

He wondered what had happened to this Steve’s best friend.

Maybe it was pity, maybe it was the empty hole in his chest that ached to go back to being something resembling a human. Maybe it was just the prospect of doing something other than brooding in the rain.

Bucky took off his mask. “You up for a game?”

#

In all, a week must have passed in their hideout before Steve found himself alone with Tony.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Tony frowned, a paper cup of hot, floral smelling tea in hand. “About what?”

The willful ignorance took Steve off guard, and for a moment all he could do was press his lips together to keep the frustration inside. “About what happened to us.”

“Why?”

Steve glanced around them, but the warehouse office they had designated as a kitchen was empty. “We’ve jumped to another universe, but I can still feel it. I don’t think it’s just going to go away.”

Tony shrugged. “But we can control it now.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be as simple as that.”

“Maybe it can be.” Tony pushed past him, nearly bumping into Rogers on his way out.

The omega glanced at Tony’s retreating form before raising his eyebrows at Steve. To which Steve responded with his own shrug.

“Trouble?” Rogers asked, finding a paper cup and eyeing the bottom for dust and dirt.

“Hasn’t really been the same since…” cold realization dawned, “since the bonding.”

Rogers hunched over the drawer with a handful of random tea satchels they’d collected, seemingly deeply absorbed with which to pick. Then he shut the drawer without grabbing anything.

“Neither of you were prepared for it.”

“No,” Steve agreed miserably.

Rogers’s mouth twisted as he bit the inside of his lip. “My alpha and I weren’t prepared for it either.”

Steve was shocked by the admission. “Did they force it on you too?”

“No. It happened long before I’d ever been on a spaceship. Heat does weird things to alphas and omegas. He and I woke up in the same bed and had to deal with it.”

“Was it hard?”

Rogers looked down at his empty cup. “At first. I’d tried to be so careful.  It felt dirty, though it always did when I came out of heat,” he shook his head.

Deep beneath the burning anger Steve still felt for Rumlow, the Collector, and the rest of Hydra, he found a bitter seed sprouting that sympathized with Rogers.

The omega let out a humorless laugh. “Do you know what helped the most? I kept thinking about Project Rebirth. I kept thinking about how if the greatest scientific mind of my era could remake my body, but couldn’t erase the heat cycle -- if despite that, Erskine still thought I was the best man for the job, then why should I blame myself for what nature made me as?”

Steve framed that into the context of how he had reacted to Tony, how neither he nor Tony had asked for a soulmate.

“I miss him,” Rogers said, fingers lacing around the cup. “And I miss the bond.”

“Why?”

Rogers smiled sadly, “Like Zola said, the only analog for a natural pair is extraordinary shared experience. Having someone like that, someone who understands you so completely, is wondrous.”

# 

A night later, Steve woke up in a cold sweat, a nauseous feeling in his stomach like he was ill. He could feel something through the bond, something like nails on a chalkboard, trying to break down a barrier. And he could feel Tony’s mind, just like they had been before the forced bonding, messy, confused, and raw.

And laced with lust.

For a moment Steve lay on his threadbare blanket -- the closest thing he had to a cot -- every nerve in his body with fire, smoldering for Tony like it had had unwillingly that night of the bonding. His mind kicked into gear sluggishly, questing back through the fractures in whatever blockade Tony had set in place.

He felt horror and shame ricochet through the bond, and then everything went dead again.

#

Steve didn’t learn the root cause of that strange awakening until a week had passed with them holed up in the hideout. It was close to noon, and he was wandering in a lesser used part of the warehouse, intent on finding Rogers or Bucky, despite the lecture he knew he’d get from Rhodey for being on the leg. But he felt off – strange, more so than was usual lately, anyway.

And that was how he found Tony and Rhodey together, half undressed and completely immersed with one another.

Steve blinked, backing out of the room before they could see him, and pressed his back to wall on the other side of the doorway. As he heard clothing rustle and an, “Ah--Tony--" from Rhodey, the nausea he’d felt in the middle of the night slammed hard against his stomach, only ten times worse.

It made very little sense.

Sure, Steve could be the jealous type. But it wasn’t as if what had transpired between them had been anything more than a nightmare. And he certainly didn’t blame Tony for wanting to distance himself from the ordeal and find some relief with a friend -- especially now that they could control the bond and didn’t have to step around each other’s thoughts anymore.

So why did Steve feel like he was being turned inside out?

His fingers curled against the wall, and he squeezed his eyes shut, certain that if he moved even an inch he’d throw up. But the feeling only intensified, the sickness in his body amplifying, as he heard the sound of their lips on one another and soft whispers and groans.

Underneath it all, the unbidden jealousy that curled in his heart was the strangest part, and so bizarre given the circumstances of the bonding that Steve wanted to cauterize it from himself.

And then he heard a deep sigh from Rhodey and a frustrated, “Shit,” from Tony.

“You can just tell me if you’re not actually interested, Tones.”

“It’s not that–“ Tony protested.

“Then what is it?”

“Stuff.”

The two fell silent, and when Rhodey spoke his voice was full of concern. “Is it the arc reactor? Tony, if you’re dying again–“

“I’m not dying,” Tony snapped.

“Then tell me how to help.”

“I don’t know!” Even without seeing them, Steve could tell Tony’s anger stemmed from his inability to resolve the situation.

“We should check back in on the translocator anyway,” Rhodey finally said.

“It won’t have changed,” Tony replied bitterly, and Steve heard the sound of them dressing, brushing the dust of the floor off themselves. “The concentration of ambient gamma energy in this atmosphere wouldn’t even be able to charge it in a decade.”

Tony’s voice was getting nearer. Panic set in as Steve realized they would walk right past him.

He tried to move, but every muscle in his body seized, and Steve sank to the floor, curling his knees to his chest, his hands clutching desperately at his mouth.

“Steve?”

It would have been too late to hide, anyway. But the pressure at his temples dissipated a bit, and his insides quit doing somersaults when Tony squatted next to his downturned face, the scent of him mesmerizing and wonderful.

If only those fingers would touch him. Just a comforting touch, like Tony had given him in their cell…

But it was Rhodey who pressed his hand to Steve’s forehead. “He’s got a bad fever,” he said.

But that couldn’t be right. Not only did the serum keep him from catching anything, Steve had felt completely fine ten minutes before coming across them.

“Let’s get him upstairs,” Tony said. As his fingers touched Steve to help him up, things got stranger.

All of it, the fever, the nausea, and the headaches disappeared.

“Wait,” he pushed one hand weakly against Tony, who looked like he’d seen a ghost come alive.

Steve rubbed at the bridge of his nose and stood up to the astonishment of everyone.

Rhodey's eyes swept from Steve to Tony, trepidation creeping over his face. “What exactly did they do to you on that ship?”

#

“So much for having things under control,” Tony murmured miserably, blinking as though he too had a gigantic headache, and pulling a blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

Steve was lying flat on his back, his hands covering his eyes. He looked like his world had just ended. In some ways, Tony supposed, it probably had. If it were him on the other end of things, inescapably bound to the man who had violated him, he’d want to shut the world out too.

And while a rational bit of Tony’s brain reminded him that the Collector and Rumlow hadn’t left either of them with much choice in the matter -- this, Steve in agony -- was apparently all Tony’s doing. And that made his insides twist with shame.

Because apparently they couldn’t catch a break.

It all seemed downright farcical to the inventor that a universe -- one that wasn’t even theirs -- had deemed him so perfect for Captain America. But maybe that made sense. Based on the little he’d seen of it, it was an ass-backwards place.

The fact that it didn’t seem to want to let go of them was more worrisome, though. Because as far as anyone could tell, there was no such thing as soulmates on Hail-Hydra world.

That the bond would physically sicken one of them if the other was physically intimate with someone else was just...evil. It was like some malevolent being ruled the universe they’d escaped. Tony’s mind immediately went to Loki -- but if the God of Tricks was really behind it, he would have taken credit for his handiwork by now.

“Maybe a life of celibacy won’t be so bad,” Tony said.

It got a strangled chuckle out of Steve. Despite everything, that raised Tony’s spirits.

“I give it a year at most before you break and put me in the ER.”

“Slander.” Tony said automatically.

Steve just shrugged. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Tony hesitated before asking, “Is that something you _want_? After what I did?”

Steve kept his eyes shielded with his hands, but Tony could feel the soldier’s end of the bond buzzing and humming with thoughts, a thin film of willpower all that separated their minds from sinking into a harmonized chaos again.

When Steve didn’t answer, Tony almost brought himself to open up the link.

Almost. But not quite.


	8. Chapter 8

Unfortunately, it seemed that they were all doomed to limp from one crisis to another. No sooner had Steve recovered, an unspoken sort of truce now formed with Tony, than Rogers went into heat.

They didn’t realize it at first. He did a good job of hiding it. But in hindsight, the way he had volunteered for night watch, the way he seemed to grow paler and gaunter, as if he was starving, might have all been clues. He had told Tony that it was a horrible thing.

So when he finally broke down and cornered the engineer in the common room, lust burning in his eyes, and begged for help, Tony was initially at a loss.

“I know you’re not him--“ Rogers’s voice was choked, and the way he reached for Tony made the inventor’s skin prickle.  “But you know.”

 _You know what I need_ ,he meant _._

“I can’t help you,” Tony said, a bit of desperation clouding his thoughts as he took a step backward, eyes transfixed on the hand held out toward him.

He literally couldn’t. Not after seeing the physical toll it had taken on Steve.

“Then lock me up in one of the rooms,” Rogers begged. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Being on the other end of caging someone set off all sort of alarm bells in Tony’s head.  But Rogers’s eyes were so blue and wide and scared.  “I’ll do what I can,” he promised. “But--“

 _I can’t give you what you need,_ He’d been about to say.

He was almost thankful when Rhodey threw the door open, Barnes at his heel. Almost.

“We got a signal.” Rhodey said. “Something’s come through. And they’re broadcasting on a hailing frequency.”

“Maybe that’s good,” Tony brightened up. “If they could pinpoint us with Zola’s algorithm they would have just showed up. What are they broadcasting? A threat?”

Rhodey shook his head. “Just a single word.”

Tony frowned. “That’s strange. What is it?”

“ _Ausbeute_.”

Rogers’s features hardened, sudden, like a switch being flipped. Tony could still see the feral hunger in his eyes, but there was something mechanical too, rote and trained. He gasped as Rogers’s strong hands closed around his neck.

“Hey, Rogers. _Steve_ ,” Rhodey put up his hands, alarmed. “Did that word mean something to you?”

Tony struggled, his windpipe felt like it was cracking. If Rogers crushed it, that was it: game over.

The super solider just growled.

“Easy, big guy,” Tony rasped. “I’m trying to help you, remember?”

For a brief moment something clouded over in those blue eyes. If the heat was able to war with Hydra’s programming, it was indeed a formidable force of nature. Maybe Barnes saw it too, because as Rogers’s grip on Tony loosened and he let the engineer tumble to the floor, Barnes lunged.

Rogers was quicker though. He barreled for the door, knocking Rhodey out of the way with a shoulder to the chest. Even Barnes didn’t have time to stop him.

“He’s headed for them, isn’t he?” Rhodey’s voice was cold. “He’ll tell them where we are.”

“Only if they have him under their thumb.” Tony rubbed at his sore neck.

“I’ll stop him,” Rhodey was already heading for where his suit sat in pieces, playing detector.

“You may not be able to.”

“I can. It just may not be pretty.”

An icy tendril of dread curled around Tony’s heart. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I’m not sacrificing all of us for him.” Rhodey called over his shoulder as he bounded out of earshot.

Tony looked over desperately at Bucky, whose eyes betrayed a similar stricken feeling. Even without a telepathic soul bond, each of them knew what the other was thinking.

Bucky just nodded, getting to his feet in fluid, catlike movement. “I’ll bring him back,” he promised, giving chase.

#

Steve woke up groggy, with the intense feeling that something was amiss. He’d taken the night watch, and hadn’t slept much -- seemed he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep either.

He poked his nose out just in time to catch an armored Rhodey storming out, a troubled Tony marching in the opposite direction like a condemned man walking toward an electric chair.

“Is he taking off with our Hydra detector?” Steve wondered aloud.

“We don’t need it anymore,” Tony explained, looking as tired as Steve felt. “Frequency’s coming through -- they’re here and looking for us. And they might succeed.”

“How?”

“Long story,” Tony answered evasively as Steve followed him, dressed in only his pants, to the room where the translocator was still gathering ambient gamma energy. “I’ve been working on the coordinates. It should work, but we need this thing powered up again...yesterday.” He said and he held a copper wire out to Steve and picked up Banner’s device.

“What do you propose doing?”

“Alternative fuel source. I created a contingency plan.” Tony grimaced and hiked his shirt up over his head. “Energy is energy. Gamma radiation is a lot more powerful, though,” he said, tapping his chest.

“Won’t that be dangerous for you?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. “We’re all in danger now.” And he took a deep breath, removing the arc reactor. As he did so, he paled visibly. He handed it to Steve, and the soldier took it reluctantly and gingerly, as though he were holding a piece of porcelain. As he held it, Steve felt the wall on the other end of the bond fizzle and break, and just like that Tony’s end was wide open. Steve took down his own barriers and felt Tony swimming through his head again.

 _I don’t know that I can do this verbally,_ Tony admitted. _If it’s too much for you--_

 _No,_ Steve tried to send every good and positive emotion he was feeling through the channel. Because it felt like he was finally whole again after having lost an arm. Then he tried to clear his mind and focus on what needed to be done. _Walk me through charging this thing up._

#

At first, Rhodey thought it was fortunate his suit was still picking up on the hailing frequency, letting him triangulate where the signal was coming from. But as he propelled himself down the littered, abandoned streets of the predawn morning, he noticed that it was being broadcast everywhere. If their group had had their radio on, the signal would have still been obvious.

He skidded to a stop in front of a front shop display with TVs, astounded that they would actually advertise their location. That is, until Rhodey's realized they probably wanted their omega and were casting a wide net.

And either their tech was better than the Hydra of this world, or they didn't care if their counterparts in this world challenged them. Because they were right outside the city.

Abandoning caution, Rhodey took to the skies, eyes keen for Rogers. He could worry about how to lose a tail on the way back to the warehouse. If Rogers got to Hydra first, its secrecy wouldn't matter anymore.

#

Rhodey searched diligently, but he didn't find any trace of Rogers. With a growing sense of doom, he started to suspect that he had missed him completely.

He was just about to give up when the scratchy comm line opened, and he heard Tony's voice, weary and frail. "Any luck?"

"Negative."

"Steve's on his way to help now."

"You two finish your heart to heart?"

"Jim."

Tony never called him that. Or rather, he only did when things were serious. Rhodey turned on his camera feed, patching into the baby monitor they'd acquired to keep tabs on the workroom. Tony was lying on the floor, boneless and on his back. Wiring for the comm’s speaker piece's wrapped around his palm, by the looks of things, to keep Tony from dropping it. It was hard to tell over the grainy footage, but his skin looked pale and bloodless.

"Tony, what happened to you?"

“Testing. You know I hate testing.”

“Tony.” Rhodey considered just turning around. They could evac the warehouse, start over elsewhere. “Is Steve or Bucky still there?”

“No, but I’ll be fine. Just find Rogers.”

What a stupid, stubborn man. The last time he’d found Tony in a puddle of limbs on the floor, he had most definitely _not_ been alright.

“No, I’m coming back for you.”

“Rhodey, if you let them get their hands on Rogers again, I will never forgive you.”

“If you die, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“If you think what they did to me and Steve is messed up, I can assure you that what they did to Rogers is a million times worse. I’ll live. I’ll even try not to drool on the floor.”

Inside, Rhodey was tearing apart. He remembered Bucky in the bunk next to him, caught in the throes of a feverish nightmare, and knowing in his gut that Hydra was responsible. While he hadn’t seen Rogers so similarly vulnerable, the man had the same guarded gaze as Bucky.

After what felt like an eternity of indecision, each passing second putting both objectives in jeopardy, Rhodey sighed. “If you do, I’m making _you_ clean it up.”

It was good to hear the staccato bark of Tony’s laugh on the other end of the comm.

But he was so preoccupied that Rhodey missed the approach of the other suit. It didn’t have jet boots or noisy propulsion units. It cut through the air silently, so stealthy that had Rhodey not turned to take off toward the Hydra ship, he would have been taken completely unawares by the freakish robotic humanoid -- a screen with goggled eyes where its face should have been.

As it was, he was still too late to shield his suit from the EMP that went off seconds later.

#

The air ducts of Hydra’s spaceship were small and claustrophobic, and every time Bucky stuck out his metal arm to pull himself another inch forward, he held his breath, hoping that no one heard the faint _clunk_ of metal on metal.

The ship was big, but not as large as the Collector’s labyrinthine fortress. And although his progress was slow, Bucky’s enhanced senses were setting off every single warning he had, telling him that his quarry was here. He could practically smell the faint earthiness of Rogers -- and following it through the ductworks was how Bucky was able to find the omega. 

He’d hoped he had been wrong -- little chance though there was of that. Just as they had feared: Rogers had made it back to Hydra.

The blond was on the floor, back slumped, in a submissive posture that made the hackles on the back of Bucky’s neck rise. Facing Rogers, Rumlow leaned against a desk, his arms splayed wide, eyebrows lowered in a scowl, and his lip upturned.

“Disgusting,” Bucky heard him say.

He saw a flinch in Rogers’s shoulders, so subtle that he nearly missed it. “Please,” the voice was hoarse, as though the omega had been screaming himself raw.

Rumlow clucked his tongue, and pushed himself off the desk, circling Rogers like a cat on the prowl. From the new angle, Bucky could see that he had his favorite toy in hand: the shock rod. “I told you, _no_ ,” Rumlow said, bending and catching Rogers’s by the throat with the weapon, forcing his chin up so that Rogers’s dull blue eyes were forced to look into his. “Good soldiers don’t question their superiors. You want to be a good soldier, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was the right answer. That much was true. But all the same, something twisted and angry passed over Rumlow’s face before he released Rogers, shoving him forward onto his hands and knees, and circling so that his back was to the super soldier. “Then tell me what you deserve for _dereliction of duty_.”

“Punishment.”

From his vantage, Bucky saw Rumlow’s eye close, and his face tightened, his lips pressed together as if trying to suppress something ugly. Then it passed, and Rumlow’s fists tightened on his weapon for just a moment before he swung, vicious and hard, striking Rogers across the face.

And Bucky should have made his move then, should have burst into the room and grappled the baton out of the man’s hands. But in that moment he was trapped -- frozen to the spot by his own memories of being made little, to feel like nothing, to ask his captors to make him bleed.

“Too pathetic to break out of it and fight back,” Rumlow hissed, the rage at his own handiwork bizarre. “Too weak to be a _hero_.” The blows rained down on Rogers in quick succession, but through it all the omega stayed silent, letting out only a soft whimper. That only seemed to enrage the Hydra agent more, and he pulled his sidearm, pointing it at Rogers’s downturned head.

"They should have never made you my responsibility. You weren’t worth my time. You certainly weren’t worth --“ He pressed his lips together, the rage getting harder and harder for him to contain. “And now you come back and beg for it again?” He pressed the gun to the side of Rogers’s cheek, forcing his head to turn till Rogers’s nose pressed into his bare shoulder. “Beg me for your life. Beg me for freedom. Beg for _anything_ but that.”

“ _Please_ ,” Rogers’s tone was so hollow and empty.

“Please _what_?”

Rogers just blinked, as though he had no idea what he was begging for. It was entirely possible that his conditioning _wouldn’t_ allow him to ask for the things Rumlow had suggested. And yet Rumlow’s words had come out as orders.

When it became clear that Rogers wouldn’t -- or couldn’t -- speak, but was waiting with baited breath for Rumlow’s next signal, the agent grimaced and holstered the gun. “Go find Strucker. He’ll be happy to have you.”

Even through the dullness of the conditioning, Bucky could see fear flicker in Rogers’s eyes.

And that was what finally freed Bucky. The vent clattered to the floor, which gave Rumlow time to react -- but not enough. His pistol went off, but Bucky caught his wrist and twisted it upward. Rumlow was strong, but not as strong as someone with the serum in their blood. They grappled for mere moments before Bucky was able to wrestle Rumlow to the floor.

They were both breathing fast. In the corner, Rogers was staring at them, quivering, compulsion and conscience warring beneath the surface. One direct order and the battle would be lost, because Bucky wouldn’t be able to hold off both Rumlow and Rogers.

“Give me the phrase to release him,” Bucky hissed, the crook of his elbow squeezing like a vice around Rumlow’s throat.

Rumlow just laughed, twisting. Bucky thought that he was trying to escape, but to his horror, he realized he was shifting, getting a better view. Rumlow’s fingers _caressed_ the skull and crossbones branded into Bucky’s forearm. “I don’t think we’ve met. But I see you’re already well acquainted with me.”

Bucky wanted, with every fiber of his being, to let go.

“What trigger phrase did I use on you?” Rumlow chuckled. “I wonder if I can guess. _Snakeskin_? _Dinner Out_?”

Bucky rolled, pinned Rumlow to the floor face down with the weight of his body, and took the agent’s neck between his hands. “Give me the phrase to release him and I’ll let you live.” Rumlow’s cheeks turned red as Bucky alternated between squeezing off his air flow and letting him breathe so that he could talk.

“You think you can save him from what he is?” Rumlow spat at him. “You’re wrong. And I bet you’re just as weak as he is. I bet I broke you like a dog.”

Cold fury filled Bucky. Yes, he did know what it felt like to be taken apart, to be put back together again in a twisted, malformed parody of a man. He moved his metal hand down to the base of Rumlow’s neck, his fingers running over the bony protrusions. 

“Steve always did have a knack for getting mixed up with bullies.”

The trained assassin in Bucky hunted for what he thought was the C8 vertebra and applied pressure. Hard.

He heard a snap.

Rumlow screamed and gasped like a fish on land, and the fingers that had been balled into fists loosened as Rumlow lost some of the feeling in his hands or legs.

“Second chance,” Bucky said, his metal arm hovering over the next vertebra up.

“Fuck you,” Rumlow spat.

He snapped C7, and Rumlow howled.

Bucky’ fingers moved upward again, and the sick, twisted part of himself that a version of this man had created reveled in the way Rumlow’s breath morphed into a shuddered gasp.

“Steve’s mother would always patch him up after he took a beating,” he said, feeling Rumlow’s heartbeat fluttering like a bird’s beneath his fingers. He could remember several occasions, being there with Steve, the acrid smell of iodine and the way Steve would always tear up, but never fuss as she swabbed his cuts. Then, as now, it always hurt to know he’d failed to protect his friend.

And even if Rogers wasn’t _his_ Steve, there was still something -- a thread between them -- and it acjed knowing Rogers had been at this man's mercy too.

“Always thought she’d get angry -- me letting him get into fights. But she never did. I asked her once, she told me, _‘the Lord made the weak to humble the strong.’ “_

C6 cracked under his hand. Rumlow let out a wheeze -- and the darkest parts of Bucky exalted in knowing he would have difficulty even _breathing_ from now on.

“Last chance,” he whispered in Rumlow’s ear.

The thrill of vengeance was pounding so loudly in his head that he almost missed it when Rumlow sobbed softly, “ _Veritas_.”

But it was enough for Rogers, who let out a shuddering, “Oh, God.”

Bucky looked up at him, bewildered, as he tried to stand and go check on the omega.

Tried being the operative word.

Adrenaline gone, Bucky staggered and gaped down at the gunshot wound in his side -- a fresh crimson stain spreading across his uniform with every breath.

#

He was late, Steve knew. But unlike Rhodey, he couldn’t fly, and unlike Bucky, he hadn’t explored the city extensively, so Steve had had to be more careful making his way to the Hydra ship.

But as Steve strode purposefully toward the ship, translocator hidden as best he could in an inner pocket, he got a sinking feeling. If nothing else, the platoon of twenty men out front was a warning that no one was going to make things easy for him.

As he drew closer, and they recognized him, Steve heard the clicks of a dozen guns being readied and turned on him. He stuck up his hands.

 _You need to make sure everyone’s close enough,_ Tony reminded him. _The translocator’s range should be able to cover most of the ship, but it would be ideal if you could see them._

 _Got it. When are you getting here?_ Steve wanted to know.

_Soon?_

Steve smelled a lie. _You’re going to make it through this. You owe me that trip to Hawaii._

_And the sauna, among other things. I haven’t forgotten._

Falling back into the cadence of conversation with Tony helped Steve keep his chin high as Strucker approached. It was hard to think he’d gone without Tony being right there with him. It would have been so much harder to stay still without him as Strucker approached.

Strucker stopped a few feet away, puzzled but pleased. “Ah, Captain. It is good to see you again.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Steve grumbled.

“Really. You seem eager to return. Not that hiding would have done you much good for long. Still, it was wise of you to come. Perhaps Rumlow didn’t do such a poor job after all.”

“I want to make a trade,” Steve protested. “For the pilot of the armor: my cooperation for his freedom.”

Strucker just grinned. “What you want is irrelevant, just like your cooperation.” Steve felt a gun pressed into the small of his back. “Come along,” Strucker crowed. “We have quite the gathering planned.”

#

Rogers scrambled to Bucky’s side, and Bucky winced at the omega’s touch. Everything sounded like it was coming through a wall, and his vision was narrowing, getting darker around the edges. Too much blood lost already, he thought numbly.

Rogers’s touch was comforting, though. It was oh-so-easy to slip into his arms, to let himself be cradled. And as Bucky felt himself slipping, he tried to speak, tried to tell the omega that the others were looking for him. But blood bubbled up and his throat closed, and he felt so tired.

And then he heard Rumlow laughing, a pained, broken laugh full of malice and evil intent.

“You won the battle, but not the war. _Ausbeute.”_


	9. Chapter 9

Inside the ship, Steve was dragged, hands tied in front of him, into what looked obscenely like a throne room, several dozen Hydra grunts inside standing at attention. It was an open space, longer than it was wide, with a raised dais at the end. A seated figure with a bony, blood red face was conversing with a man in an olive uniform and gray armband. The outfit was the one that Hydra wore on this world. And the seated figure could be none other than Schmidt.

Before the dais, and in front of the grunts, Zola was standing guard next to the War Machine armor. A blinking disc had been attached to the silver metal of Rhodey’s shoulder, and Steve suspected it was keeping the armor subdued.

Schmidt’s lips drew into a sneer as he watched Steve approach, and saw the super soldier taking in the depth of the situation.

“You’ve found your broken pet, it seems,” the Skull said, addressing Strucker as they halted in front of the throne.

“I have done better,” Strucker replied, handing over the translocator they had found on Steve with a bow. “I have also taken their means of escape from them.”

Schmidt inspected the device with detached interest.

“Herr Skull, I assumed you would be pleased. We can continue the work that was interrupted--"

“It has been four weeks,” Schmidt said, his fingers rapping on the arm rest of his chair. “And this one does not look broken to me.” The dark, murderous eyes turned to Steve. “Come closer.”

Steve glared back until the gun pressed into his back urged his feet forward.

“You’re right, you know,” Steve said, keenly aware that though they were fading and yellowed, some of the bruises on his face were still visible. Well, let the Skull see that no amount of physical torture would turn Steve into their pet.

Schmidt’s boney visage was inscrutable though. He rested his chin on one fist as he considered Steve. “Then Rumlow has failed again and we will no longer require his services. Zola, see to it that the man is _notified_ after this is all over _._ ” His black eyes flickered to Strucker. “It would seem the task now falls to you, since your man has disappointed us.”

Strucker blinked. “Of course. I will arrange for another--"

Schmidt shifted, leaning forward. “No, Herr Strucker. It falls to you _now_. Break him here for me, or suffer the same fate as your failed dog.”

Strucker swallowed, and Steve turned his head a fraction, seeing that the hand holding the gun on him was quivering.

“Corporal Adler, Sergeant Gehring,” Strucker barked to two men nearby. “Approach.”

A bald, well-built man with a two headed hydra as part of his insignia stepped up to where Strucker stood. Strucker bent and whispered something in the man’s ear as another man, shorter but just as brawny, made his way forward from the crowd of Hydra agents.

The first man just nodded in affirmation as Strucker turned his attention on the second conscript. The second man had a three headed hydra on his coat, and Steve surmised him to be the sergeant.

The butt of the corporal’s gun drew his attention off of Strucker as it cracked against the left side of Steve’s jaw. The skin there would turn black and blue again, Steve was sure. The corporal hit him again, dazing Steve. And then there was the sergeant -- looming off to Steve’s right side. The sergeant seemed to prefer his own hands, striking with a hook that sent Steve stumbling -- right back into the hands of the corporal.

Steve’s vision began to blur more with each successive blow, a trickle of blood stinging as it dripping into his eyes. Instinct took over, and he caught the corporal’s hand mid-swing, squeezing tightly, forcing the man to drop the pistol and let out a strangled howl.

“Captain,” he heard Schmidt’s voice, calm and aloof. “We will no more of that. Bring the other one forward,” he said, fingers curling, beckoning figures at the door in. Steve blinked as Hydra agents pushed Tony into the room.

The engineer stumbled forward, clumsy and ashen faced. Tony’s wide eyes betrayed worry, and he scrabbled against the walls of the bond. Steve let him in, half angry that Tony still hadn’t recovered from using the arc reactor as a charger, half relieved to see him alive.

 _How long have you been here?_ Steve asked.

_Long enough to know what Schmidt has planned for you._

_They have Bruce’s device_ , Steve warned Tony.

_Hang on. We’ll find a way out of this. There still haven’t been any reports of Barnes being found._

That was cold comfort. _He’s not exactly the most stable member of the group, especially given present company._

Even as he sent that thought to Tony, Steve felt the sergeant’s arms snake beneath his shoulders, pinning his hands over his head. He was left completely exposed as the corporal, face red with embarrassment, cradled his broken hand and kicked Steve in the stomach. Then he did it again, hitting a rib, and Steve put his head down and clenched his teeth together as he felt it crack.

The sergeant and the corporal were all too happy to keep following Strucker’s instructions. It might have been ten minutes they had him, or it might have been forty. Either way, he missed the sound of the door opening again, and was only dimly aware of Schmidt’s voice, oozing with delight.

“Strucker, I trust you will not waste this opportunity.”

 _Who?_ He quested out to Tony.

_Rogers. He’s still under._

_Great_.

“Captain Rogers,” Strucker’s greeting managed to be both contemptuous and warm. “You are a fine example of obedience to Hydra. Would you like to help educate your counterpart?”

Rogers swam into view, and Steve could see exactly what Tony meant by _under_. His eyes were blank, with no recognition of who Steve was. Those eyes made Steve’s blood run cold. To have his soul taken away like that…To be a prisoner in his own body, made so fully into a _thing_ , rather than a person…Steve struggled against the sergeant’s iron grip, only to have the corporal strike him hard across the face.

Rogers just frowned at Strucker’s request. “How?”

“Make him bleed. The easiest way to break the spirit is the break the body around it.”

If the fool had seen him as a boy, Steve suspected Strucker would have a very different outlook on life.

Steve tensed as Rogers faced him. Even preparing for the blow, Steve was still taken aback by the force behind it. It only took two more hits, one of them to the rib that had cracked, for Steve to heave bile and blood, acrid and stinging on his tongue.

“I’m disappointed,” Schmidt’s voice drifted over them. “You have a soul bonded subject, yet you do not fully utilize his weakness against him, Herr Strucker. At least consider the possibilities before you inadvertently kill him.”

“Herr Skull?”

Schmidt shot Strucker a disgusted look, as though his subordinate should have put the pieces together himself. “The omega is in heat. With your _deviancy_ , I’m surprised the idea to use it failed to occur to you.”

Strucker gaped, “Of course. I can have a tech prepare the drug --“

“No,” Skull steepled his fingers. “The effects will be more rewarding without it. Captain Rogers, halt and present yourself for Stark.”

Steve felt horror and anxiety spill through the bond, the trauma and guilt so shallowly buried coming back as the Hydra agents nudged Tony to the front of the room and Rogers stepped away from Steve, undoing his pants obediently, already hard and eager.

“It won’t work,” Steve huffed, one eye swelling shut, as much to discourage Schmidt as to reassure Tony. If it hadn’t worked between Tony and Rhodes in the warehouse, then surely present circumstances would have similar fallout.

“Wrong,” Schmidt smiled. “You will have noticed the effect your soulmate has on you by now, yes? Your presence will assure cooperation. And if you fail or refuse, I will merely give the omega to the rest of the room. Now,” and with a wave from Schmidt, the sergeant let Steve tumble to the floor. “It falls to you to prepare Stark.”

Steve glared daggers at Schmidt before looking up at Tony with trepidation.

 _I know it’s not how he’d want, but he did trust me enough to ask for help with his heat,_ Tony seemed so sad and resigned as he drew close to Steve. He flinched as Steve undid the button of his pants and took him out, limp and flaccid. Steve squared his shoulders, wishing this were happening under different circumstances.

Maybe, however small it might be, he could subvert what Schmidt was doing.

_Tony, may I touch you?_

He felt Tony’s puzzlement overriding the panic. _Of course._

Steve took him in hand, stroking, but it was difficult with him so limp, and the dryness certainly couldn’t be helping. He used his thumb to trace the head of Tony’s cock, trying his best to block out the feel of the stares.

_Can I suck you?_

He licked his lips, hovering, feeling the bewilderment surge to the surface of Tony’s mind again. Then Tony must have realized what Steve was trying to do.

_Yes. Can I touch you too?_

Tony ran his hands through Steve’s hair, the tips of his fingers feeling hotter than any brand. Steve took him into his mouth slowly, feeling the other man begin to harden on his tongue as he bobbed his head, stalwartly ignoring the pain in his ribs. Steve tasted salt and musk, and when he hollowed his cheeks, Tony clenched his jaw and let out a deep breath through his nose. But the moan he’d just managed to stifle reverberated through Steve’s mind.

 _I wish we had done this sooner,_ Steve thought. He could almost -- _almost_ \-- forget they were surrounded by nazis when Tony let out an audible pleased sound of agreement.

Steve felt a hand at the back of his head, too rough to be Tony’s, pulling him off the engineer’s cock.

“The omega, now,” Schmidt instructed, and Steve saw that Rogers was waiting on hands and knees.

Tony dutifully got on one knee behind the omega. “Can I have something to make it more comfortable for him?”

“You’ll find his biology accommodating,” Strucker advised. Steve wanted to break his neck for knowing that.

Tony sank inside Rogers, and true to word, the omega seemed excited, delighted even. It was the only emotion he’d shown since he had set foot in the room. The sick feeling in Steve’s stomach was partly because of that look. No doubt the rest of it was due to the same side effects of the bond they had noticed in the warehouse.

All Steve could do was watch as Tony began thrusting. Rogers flushed in excitement and went to his elbows, grinding back on Tony. And then Tony bent over the omega, one hand splayed out on the ground in front of Rogers’s shoulder, nipping at his ear.

“Rutting like little more than animals,” Schmidt observed snidely.

But linked as they were, Steve realized it was a slight of hand. Tony was whispering in the omega’s ear, trying to unbury Rogers, to free him from the programming.

But it wasn’t working.

 _Any idea what they might use as a trigger phrase?_ Tony asked _._

Steve found he couldn’t even answer. And his discomfort at watching Tony have sex with a look-a-like version of himself must have shown.

“If you were to join in,” Schmidt said silkily, “I am told the cuckolding distress vanishes. You could take his mouth.”

Rogers let out an obscene moan at the suggestion.

A piece of Steve withered at that, even as he felt himself going dizzy, the blood pounding in his ears and throbbing against all of his bruises and aches. The world was growing narrower. He curled on to his side, feeling too wretched to do more than wrap his hands around himself and close his eyes.

 _Steve? Are you still with me?_ Tony seemed so far away and fuzzy.

"This is how you break Captain America," He heard Schmidt say. "Wearing down the body is merely sport. To _hurt_ the man you must pit his honor against his love for his friends. Present him with a sword and a friend in distress, and he will fall on the blade every time.”

Schmidt sighed when, true to his prediction, Steve refused to join in. “That will be enough, Stark.”

Mercifully, Steve knew the moment Tony broke contact with Rogers. The nausea disappeared, small reprieve though it was. It wasn’t enough and it didn’t last. “Wake him up, he should see this.” Steve felt a rod fall on his skin and the surge of electricity, lighting every aching, agonized nerve on fire.

Rogers had moved to the foot of Schmidt’s chair, seated like a dog in front of the Skull, Schmidt’s hand tangled in his blond hair.

In his other hand, Schmidt held the translocator.

“This, Captain, is your only purpose,” he bunched a hand in omega’s hair. “And you will never escape it, no matter where you might try to hide. Today your choice is simple. You may either crawl to me and assume your position as your double here has, or you can watch your friends executed, one by one.”

Hatred bubbled in Steve’s chest. But if he could just feign subservience long enough to get to Schmidt, maybe he could grab the device.

Neck held stiff, Steve pushed himself on hands and knees and began the torturous crawl toward Schmidt. His battered ribs and unhealed shin screamed.

“You have been quite a thorn in our side,” Schmidt said as Steve pulled himself forward. “We would be remise to make this too easy.” He gave a nod, and the sergeant and the corporal seized Steve’s ankles and dragged him backward a few dozen feet.

Steve had a moment of sickening realization as he saw the puddle of blood that had formed beneath where he had fallen. For a moment he froze, staring at the bright red smear, painting a grisly line where he had been dragged. Then he heard the cluck of Schmidt’s tongue, and saw the grin on his boney red face. And Steve was damned if he was going to let them win.

Another painful few inches forward, and Steve felt like he was crawling over shards of glass. After a few feet more it was hard to breath. He felt Tony at his walls, alarmed, but Steve kept his focus on the task at hand.

“You have also been uncooperative at every chance you have been given,” Schmidt interrupted again, and Steve looked up at him, mouth open, dripping blood, and panting. Schmidt tilted his head, presumably at the sergeant and corporal. One of them stepped in front of Steve, and his heavy boot stomped down on Steve’s hand _hard_ , and then he did it again. Three times in total. Steve heard a crack and felt agony with every fall.

After that, Steve saw thinly veiled fear on Strucker’s face. And if Schmidt had effectively taken over the task he had assigned to Strucker, there was little wonder why in Steve’s head.

Steve reached out with his good hand, forming a fist and using his aching forearm to prop himself up off of his bad ribs as he crawled one armed.

 "It will be difficult to prove your loyalty,” Schmidt added.

This time Steve wasn’t surprised when one of the men broke the wrist on his remaining good arm. He lay on his shrieking ribs, both arms dangling uselessly, feeling blood slowly pool around the cheek he had pressed to the floor.

He opened up the walls of the bond, letting Tony in.

_I’m not meant to make it there._

_No,_ Tony agreed.

Steve heaved a deep breath, so frustrated, so angry, so full of regret. _I’d say we had a good run of things, but…_

_What?_

_But I wanted more._ Steve thought, eyes closing, imagining that beach. But he really did want more: lazy mornings in the tower with Tony beside him, working on his bike alongside Tony’s classic cars -- a quick kiss stolen in the helicarrier’s boardroom before a mission. One he’d never get now.

And Tony sent back imagined evenings on the couch, eating out of Chinese takeout containers, scuba diving in crystal clear blue water, fourth of July fireworks and a half-eaten birthday cake --

“He’s not moving,” the sergeant said.

“So the strongest of them falls,” Schmidt crowed. “And the mess you have made is cleaned, Strucker. Who will be taking over the reconditioning for Rumlow?”

“Sir--?” Strucker was taken aback.

“My question was quite clear. Now that we have two super soldiers at our disposal, I want them trained together.”

“I assumed we would return the omega to Tivan.” Strucker visibly swallowed. “If he comes back demanding another serum specimen as he originally did --“

Schmidt waved a hand dismissively. “He will not have me. Zola has done a fine job of stealing his secrets. It won’t be long until we are able to move as easily between universes as he did.”

“Sir,” Strucker still sounded doubtful. His eyes fell on Tony and Rhodey. “What should I do with the others?”

“Dispose of them.”

“Yes, Herr Skull,” Strucker seemed relieved, as though he had finally been handed a job he could do. He drew his sidearm, and stepped from the dais.

“Kill the soulmate first,” Schmidt added. “I want to see the look on the Captain’s face as the bond is severed.”

#

Bucky was floating, deep in a darkness that didn’t seem to have form. He reached out his hands, feeling for walls, for a floor, for anything that might tell him where he was.

But all of his senses were deadened and he tumbled like a mote of dust, alone.

Until he heard a voice, so familiar that it sent a shudder through him. _“Give him to the rest of the room.”_

Rumlow? Pierce? He’d heard that on one of the men’s lips before -- or something to the effect. They were memories he preferred to keep hidden, and the thought of being forced to relive them horrified Bucky.

And then there was another voice, close in his ear, _“I know you're still in there. I'll find a way to break you free.”_

Yes. Please . _Get me out,_ he wanted to scream.

 _“You could take his mouth.”_ That horrible voice said again, deep and low and cruel.

If he were trapped in some hell, some purgatory of an afterlife where he had to go through everything Hydra had done to him again…

He hadn’t led a good life, but did _anyone_ deserve that?

And then Bucky saw light -- gray at first, but getting brighter, and he was drawn to it, unable to keep himself from being sucked in, like a ship pulled down into a vortex.

_“Wake him up, he should see this.”_

It felt like he _had_ woken up. He blinked and the world was suddenly before him. Only it wasn’t a world he wanted to wake up to. Steve was bleeding and lying broken on the floor. He hadn’t done that, had he?

Bucky tried to scream, to move, to shoot the two Hydra men standing over Steve, but he couldn’t so much as flinch. And that was when he realized that he was looking out of Rogers’s eyes.

The revelation was like being pushed into a freezing pond.

.He could feel Rogers, his mind tossing with turmoil. And like a whisper he could hear Rogers warning him, _you’re linking us._

And he knew, as if the memories were his own, that Tony had gotten sucked into Steve’s head too. He knew two men were linked too, that they were soulmates, and that Tony and Steve could talk to one another without words…

Bucky shoved the implications of _linked_ and _bonded_ aside. He didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had a chance -- a shot in the dark. He just hoped it would work.

But it would. It had to.

 _Veritas._ Bucky thought with single-minded purpose.

#

The shift in the omega’s posture was slight, so subtle that Schmidt and Strucker, both intent on Steve, completely missed it. But Rhodey was positive from the way he blinked, the sudden sheen in his eyes, and the faint flinch in his mouth that Rogers had woken up.

But under Zola’s attention, and with the Hydra officer’s disruptor immobilizing the suit, Rhodey was trapped inside, rendering him mute and unable to send any subtle signals.

Rogers did a good job of pretending though. And when they broke both of Steve’s hands, he gave no sign of emotion -- biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity, just like their Steve would.

But when Schmidt gave the order to execute Tony and Strucker stepped off the dais with gun drawn, Rogers snapped.

He lunged for the Skull, at first trying to go for the nazi’s sidearm. But as they grappled and the Hydra agents drew their weapons, trying to get a clear shot that wouldn’t risk their leader, Rogers’s target changed. He twisted, putting the Skull’s back to the agents and fought for the translocator.

 _No._ Rhodey thought, as it struck him that if Rogers succeeded, they would all be teleported. But without one of them to hold on to, the omega would be left behind.

Rhodey struggled in his War Machine prison, trying to think of an override -- _any override_ \-- that he hadn’t tried yet. Even as he wracked his brain, though, he saw Rogers’s fingers win the battle, saw his fist clamp over the Skull’s, inadvertently pressing the trigger.

“No!” Schmidt roared, and in his rage he was able to knock the omega to the floor. The device blinked once.

“Just you and me again,” Rogers said, triumphant, as it flashed twice, then three times.

#

An explosion of light lit the room, brilliant white. And in the blindness, he heard the clatter of something small and metallic falling to the floor.

Tony blinked as his vision came back and he surveyed the room, now empty, save for Rogers, the group from his universe, and the sole olive-uniformed Hydra agent rubbing furiously at his eyes.

Tony grabbed the inhibitor on the War Machine armor, closing a fist around Zola's inhibiting chip, which gave a satisfying crunch. He banged his other hand against the silver shell of the silver armor. “Wakey wakey.”

There was a whirl of gears setting into motion, and then Rhodey’s helmet rotated, as though he were cracking his neck. “Oh God,” the filter of his mechanized voice sounded irritated. “Please tell me we aren’t in another wrong universe.”

“We haven’t left this one,” Tony said. “But be a doll and make sure our guest doesn’t cause any trouble.”

The armor perked up as Rhodey trained his guns on the agent.

Tony’s next course of action was the Steves. Rogers was blinking like everyone else and holding his head, looking confused and dazed. Tony decided that he could fend for himself for a few more moments and scrambled to Steve’s side.

 _We won. It’s over._ He thought, sending every bit of jubilation and excitement he felt. But Steve’s half of the connection remained mute. And when he turned Steve over onto his back, he saw that the man was still, his eyes closed.

 _No – No – wake up! It’s finally over!_ He pleaded.

“Steve, honey, we’re so close to home.” He felt his lip quiver as he ran his fingers over Steve’s jaw, over his soft, slack lips “Steve?”

He felt Steve’s chest rise and fall beneath his fingers, and blue eyes peeked at him, weak and tired, but very much alive under the dark blond lashes. “Since when do you call me honey?”

Tony bit his lower lip and laughed, rubbing gently at Steve’s cheek with his thumb. “I get a bye on that for thinking you were dead.”

“I _feel_ half-dead,” Steve muttered, wincing as he accepted Tony’s help into a seated position.

“Thank God for super soldier serum.”

Steve made a grunt of agreement, leaning into Tony.

“Bucky--“ he heard Rogers mumble, eyes wide, getting unsteady feet beneath him. He made his way toward the door he had entered from, hasty and clumsy, and probably fueled on adrenaline. “He’s here -- he was shot--“

Tony exchanged a glance with Steve.

“Go with him,” the super soldier said, and Tony could feel the worry radiating off of him. “I’ll be fine.”

#

Tony felt like an interloper, watching as Rogers bent down next to Bucky’s prone form. He was awake and lucid, though he looked like he was in a great deal of pain. He was as lucky as Steve to have accelerated healing.

One surprise in the whole equation was Rumlow.

“Why are all the rest of them gone, but not him?” Rogers asked, his eyes fixated on the Hydra agent. He was lying on the ground near Bucky, unconscious but breathing. “For that matter, why are we still here and the rest of them gone?”

The engineer smiled. “I came up with a plan on short notice. Hydra was going to find us, no matter what, so I altered the biosignature it was keyed to. It teleported _them._

“So they’re on your home earth?” Rogers asked, perplexed at the strategy of that decision.

“Oh, no,” Tony had forgotten to explain the most important part. “I keyed in coordinates for a place called the negative zone. There’s a scientist in Manhattan who’s been publishing data on it.”

“So Schmidt and Strucker are really gone?”

“For good,” Tony promised.

Some of the tension in Rogers’s shoulders melted away. “What about him?”

Tony scratched at his overgrown goatee and considered Rumlow. “This far away, he was probably out of range. We could find a way to send him with the others…”

“No,” Rogers said, cradling Bucky. “He’s not a good man, or a kind one, but…”

When he didn’t continue the thought, Tony said, “Out of all of us, you’re the one who probably has the most right to decide what happens to him,” It only seemed fair after what the two had gone through.

“Leave him here,” Rogers decided. “In the end he sided with Hydra. Let him stay with them.”

Tony couldn’t argue with that logic.

#

Unfortunately, the Banner of the Hydra infested world proved elusive, and they depended on the arc reactor for another recharge. Tony felt like he’d been turned inside out by the combination of universe hopping, arc reactor draining, and the kidnapping.

While the tower’s carpet under his feet and the familiarity of home were comforting, the Avengers that quickly swamped the tower to bid them all welcome home was not. Ordinarily Tony might have thrived on the attention -- or at least the crowd. But not today. He didn’t feel like answering the inundation of questions about why they had come back with two Steve Rogers, or why Rhodey had stepped between Natasha’s raised tasers and the Winter Soldier.

Instead Tony retreated to the upper observation deck of the tower, drink in hand, staring out over the city and trying to diges, in a moment of quiet, just all that had happened to them. It didn’t even feel like someone else’s life, it didn’t feel _real_.

When Steve ventured up to find him some time later, leaning on the rail next to him, Tony was still struggling with it. The engineer smiled and welcomed the soldier with a raised, albeit empty, glass. “Just planning out my life of celibacy up here.” He said.

Steve smirked. _Liar._

 _It still unnerves me that we’re back in our world and can do this,_ Tony admitted.

“Why?”

Tony frowned, refusing to look Steve in the eye. “Because it’s not how _our_ universe works. Because it never should have happened to us, and now we have to deal with the consequences.”

“And you think celibacy would be easier?” Steve teased.

“Then you stuck with me? Yes.”

“So everything that happened between us on the Collector's ship and Hydra World…?”

Tony grit his teeth and looked down, pretending to be very interested in the pattern of gridlocked cars below. Except, even if he did shut Steve out, the man knew him so intimately now that Tony didn’t think it would hide much. And after the silence he had imposed between them in the warehouse, Tony felt he owed Steve an answer, as much as he didn’t want to think about it.

 _Can I_? He heard Steve in his mind, soft and quiet, his hand outstretched and palm up.

Tony laced his fingers around Steve’s. “We were in survival mode,” he found it hard to look Steve in the eye as he said it, so he kept looking at the streets below. “So if, now that we’re home, the situation has changed. I understand if you want to put some distance between the two of us.”

“Tony,” Steve’s voice was soft and soothing. “No one’s to blame but them. It was horrible, and no one should have had to go through it. But it happened. We got through it together.” Steve squeezed Tony’s hand before letting go. _And I’d rather pick up the pieces together too._

“Would it be so bad?” he added out loud. “All those things we imagined?”

Tony blinked, taken aback. Floored really. He summoned up every last once of bravado he had left. “One condition.”

“Do you want Rhodey to... _join?_ ”

And like that, all of Tony’s bravado evaporated as Steve effectively one-upped him. His mouth hung ajar in surprise.

“I mean, I just thought --“ Steve started fumbling over his words. "I'd need time to get used to the idea of more than one --"

“I was just going to ask for a kiss.”

Steve looked immensely relieved. “I can do that.”

The soldier ducked his head, and Tony was rewarded with a chaste press of Steve’s lips to his. Followed quickly by another.

“Don’t suppose you want to show me how to repair my turntable?” Steve asked, arm wrapping around Tony’s waist.

“That depends entirely on what you want to play on it.”

Steve grinned. “Well, I found a record that Sam suggested before it broke. I just thought maybe you’d want to listen to it together? Do people still do that?”

Tony snorted, about to say, _Teenagers who are too nervous to ask someone out on an actual date._

He saw the blush on Steve’s cheeks and realized perhaps that was exactly what the super soldier was doing.

“Yeah,” Tony took Steve by the hand again, “let’s go fix your record player.”


End file.
